"IF   YOUTH    BUT   KNEW!" 


By  Agnes  &   Egerton   Castle 

ROSE  OF  THE  WORLD 
FRENCH  NAN 

THE  STAR  DREAMER 
THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO 
THE  SECRET  ORCHARD 
THE  BATH  COMEDY 
INCOMPARABLE  BELLAIRS 
THE  HOUSE  OF  ROMANCE 


By  Egerton  Castle 

YOUNG  APRIL 
THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 
CONSEQUENCES 
MARSHFIELD  the  OBSERVER 
LA  BELLA  AND  OTHERS 

SCHOOLS  AND  MASTERS  OF 
FENCE  .  ENGLISH  BOOK- 
PLATES .  THE  JERN  ING- 
HAM  LETTERS  .  LE  ROMAN 
DU  PRINCE  OTHON 


Her  child  eyes  were  still  upon  him  and  seemed  to  ask  for  something 
yet.  And,  at  this,  he  bent  and  kissed  her  gently,  as  he  would  have 
kissed  a  child,  and  did  not  guess  that,  at  the  touch  of  his  lips,  Sidotiia's 
•woman's  soul  was  born.  (Seepage  196.) 


IF  YOUTH  BUT  KNEW!" 


BY 


AGNES   &f   EGERTON    CASTLE 

AUTHORS   OF 

"  ROSE  OF  THE  WORLD,"   "  FRENCH   NAN," 
ETC.,   ETC. 


"  Si  jeunesse  savaif  .  .  . 
Si  vieillesse  pouvait!" 

(.Old French  Song, 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   LANCELOT   SPEED 


All  rights  rtserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1906, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  April,  1906. 


XorfoooB  $rfS3 

J.  8.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  VAGABOND i 

II.     THE  FOREST  HOUSE 13 

III.  GREEN  ADVENTURE       .  •      .        .        .        -30 

IV.  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS        ....      43 
V.  THE  INVITATION  OF  THE  ROAD                           57 

VI.    THE  BURG 74 

VII.    GUESTS  OF  CHANCE 84 

VIII.     ROSES  OF  TRIANON 99 

IX.     HOME-COMING 116 

X.  THE  BURGRAVE'S  WELCOME         .        .        .129 

XI.    TANGLED  TALES 140 

XII.  THE  BURGRAVE'S  FAREWELL        .        .        .132 

XIII.  THE  OUBLIETTE 174 

XIV.  LOVE    AMONG    THE   RUINS         .  .  .  -193 

XV.  FURENS  QUID  FEMINA  POSSIT   .        .        .    205 

XVI.      'TWIXT    CUP   AND   LlP 22O 

XVII.     THE  SKIRT  OF  WAR 232 

XVIII.     THE  RAID 243 

XIX.  THE  MELODY  IN  THE  VIOLETS     .        .        .    255 

XX.  THE  TRUE  READING  OF  A  LETTER      .        .    267 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.  AT  THE  MOCK  VERSAILLES        .        .        .  279 

XXII.    THE  CABINET  NOIR 292 

XXIII.  THE  KING'S  MAIL 307 

XXIV.  PORTENTS 322 

XXV.  THE  PERVERSENESS  OF  WORDS          .        .  337 

XXVI.  THE  WAYS  OF  LITTLE  COURTS  .        .        .  348 

XXVII.  THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOODS        .        .        .  359 

XXVIII.  A  TREACHEROUS  HAVEN    ....  376 

XXIX.    THE  HOMING  BIRD 390 

XXX.    DAWN  Music 403 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Her  child  eyes  were  still  upon  him  and  seemed  to  ask 
for  something  yet.  And,  at  this,  he  bent  and  kissed 
her  gently,  as  he  would  have  kissed  a  child  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"  The  something  that  lived  on,  the  miserable  carcass, 

the  old  man  —  call  it  myself,  if  you  will "        Facing        i 

But,  as  the  oncomer  drew  nearer,  the  glimmer  of  hope 

died  in  the  discontented  gentleman's  heart    Facing      12 

As  she  bent,  offering  him  the  green  goblet  of  wine,  her 

heavy  plait  fell  against  his  shoulder         .       Facing      28 

Wellenshausen 73 

"  Look,  look,  do  you  see  ?  .  .  .     There  are  two  men 

coming  up  the  road  with  a  pack-horse  ! "       Facing      82 

"  The  high-born,  my  mistress,  had  not  expected  you 
before  to-morrow,"  said  the  butler  with  a  deep  bow 

Facing  90 

Meanwhile,  up  in  his  chamber,  the  Burgrave  sat  in 

sodden  brooding 173 

Steven  almost  called  aloud,  as  he  heard  their  heavy  plunge 

into  the  ambushed  waters       .         .         .       Facing    180 

Sidonia  stood,  shaking  and  pruning  herself  like  a  bird, 

her  hair  glinting  in  the  light  .         .         .       Facing    192 

'"  Spread  your  dark  wings,  obscene  birds  !  .  .  .  the  scent 
of  Death  is  in  the  air.  In  a  little  while  you  may 
gorge !  ,  .  .  caw  —  caw ! "  .  .  Facing  250 

vii 


viii  List  of  Illustrations 

PAGE 

"  Hurl  down  the  Guard,  and  the  field  is  ours !  .  .  .    Hurl 

down  the  Guard,  aha  ! " 254 

"  She    always    loved    violets.     These    have  no  scent, 

.  .  .  but  hers  —  oh,  they  were  sweet ! "  .       Facing    264 

They  spread  him  beside  the  Jurist  in  the  moonlight  — 

with  a  certain  effect  of  symmetry     .         .       Facing    310 

.  .  .  the   great  bag  on  his    back,  undiminished,    save 

for  two  warrants  and  one  private  missive         .         .     320 

What  she  was  saying  was  sufficiently  remarkable :  "  Your 

Majesty  mistakes "          ....       Facing    358 

"  Positively,  a  bird  from  the  tyrant's  aviary,"  he  cried. 

"  A  foreign,  French  bird ! "     .         .         .       Facing    394 

His  child-wife !  .  .  . 

The    watchman  was    chanting   the    tale  of   the    first 

morning  hour Facing    414 

The  End 421 


TO 

"MARIE-LOUISE" 


FOREWORD 

"Is  it  not,"  remarks  Fiddler  Hans  the  wanderer,  some- 
where in  these  pages,  "instructive  to  see  how  the  ruler  of 
Westphalia  passes  his  time  while  the  best  manhood  0}  his 
country  is  warring  for  the  Empire  —  burnt  in  Spain, 
frozen  in  Russia  ?  " 

Few  people  have  cared,  it  would  seem,  to  study  that 
little  chapter  0}  history,  the  rule  of  Jerome  in  Westphalia; 
yet  it  is  curious  enough  —  as  a  record  of  human  jolly, 
if  for  no  other  reason. 

That  incredible  Westphalia  of  Napoleon's  making! 
Harlequin's  coat  contrived  out  of  Hesse,  Brunswick,  and 
a  score  of  smaller  principalities,  hemmed  with  a  shred  or 
two  of  Prussian  province;  incongruous  rag  torn  from 
the  map  of  the  old  Germanic  Empire  and  flung  by  the 
conqueror,  between  two  victories,  to  his  "little  brother 
Jerome"  I 

A  strangely  pusillanimous  character  was  the  amiable 
Jerome.  His  annals  include,  in  the  days  of  his  youth, 
'flight  from  his  ship,  within  sight  of  an  English  blockad- 
ing squadron  (not  through  cowardice,  be  it  said:  there 
was  pluck  enough  in  the  little  man,  but  because  of  his 
thirst  for  the  pleasures  of  land),  and,  in  more  mature 
years,  desertion  from  the  Grand  Army  at  a  crucial  mo- 
ment, upon  the  mere  impulse  of  wounded  vanity.  How 

xi 


xii  Foreword 

so  grotesque  a  potentate  was  allowed,  for  seven  years,  to 
lord  over,  to  plunder  and  demoralize,  some  three  millions 
of  sturdy  Germans,  to  discredit  the  name  of  Bonaparte  and 
weaken  the  fabric  of  the  new  Empire,  remains  one  of  the 
enigmas  of  history. 

But,  then,  the  new  Emperor  must  ever  be  a  maker  of 
kings;  carve  new  kingdoms  out  of  old.  For  his  "Beau 
Sabreur,"  Murat,  there  is  Naples  and  the  Two  Sicilies; 
for  his  infant  son,  nothing  less  than  Rome;  for  his  younger 
brothers,  Holland,  Spain,  .  .  .  Westphalia!  What  is 
there  to  restrain  great  Ccesar?  Hark  to  his  mighty  in- 
solence : 

"  The  Emperor  of  the  French  "  (so  M.  Walckenaer,  in 
his  official  work,  La  Geographic  Moderne,  brings  to  a 
conclusion  the  chapter  on  la  France  allemande),  "  pos- 
sesses likewise  in  Germany  the  principality  of  Erfurth 
and  the  county  of  Katzenellenbogen:  mais  Sa  Majeste 
n'a  pas  encore  decide  sur  leur  sort." 

His  Majesty  has  not  yet  decided  upon  their  fate  I 

About  the  fate  of  Westphalia  there  had  been  no  inde- 
cision. From  one  day  to  another,  "little  brother  Jerome" 
acknowledged  failure  in  every  other  career,  naval,  civil, 
or  military,  found  himself  seated  upon  a  German  throne. 
And  thus  we  have  him,  inconceivable  fop,  strutting  and 
ogling,  upon  the  scene.  —  A  king  whose  life  energies, 
when  the  cracking  of  his  brother's  empire  may  be  heard 
on  every  side,  are  divided  between  the  devising  of  new 
costumes,  the  planning  of  revels,  and  the  discovery  of  fresh 
favourites.  A  scamp,  fascinating  enough,  but  incapable 
of  a  single  strong  or  noble  thought,  A  cynic  and  a  liber- 


Foreword  xiii 

tine;  withal  a  gull,  in  his  way.  A  man  who  could  re- 
pudiate without  a  pang  of  regret  the  fair  young  Virginian 
wife  of  his  youth,  to  marry  without  love  a  "suitable  German 
princess."  A  man  who  flaunted  his  debauchery  and  his 
barefaced  improbity,  yet  could  be  scared  to  distraction  by 
the  imaginary  threat  of  a  little  haunting  tune;  the  tune 
which,  with  its  twang  of  mockery  and  warning,  was  as 
ill  an  omen  to  his  superstitious  fancy  as  the  shadow  of 
"  the  little  red  man,"  or  the  date  of  Christmas,  to  his  great 
Imperial  brother. 

And  under  him,  that  hasty  patchwork  of  old  German 
lands:  his  incongruous  kingdom.  His  people,  grave 
religious  dwellers  of  the  mountain  and  of  the  wood,  uncon- 
vinced subjects  of  the  godless  Welsch,  dumbly  chafing 
under  his  insensate  taxation.  His  new-fangled  court, 
aping  the  vanished  Versailles  of  Louis  XV.,  yet  combining 
with  the  reckless  frivolity  of  the  Old  Order  all  the  ill- 
breeding  of  revolutionary  parvenus.  Over  all,  a  govern- 
ment so  incompetent,  so  corrupt,  as  to  stupefy  or  demoralize 
all  that  had  dealings  with  it  —  friend  or  joe,  high  or  low, 
French  official  or  German  landowner;  the  magistrates, 
the  very  students;  the  old  rulers  of  the  soil  themselves, 
nervously  awaiting  the  inevitable  debacle,  stretching,  the 
while,  both  hands  towards  the  plunder. 

In  these  topsy-turvy  days  no  man  rightly  knows  whether 
he  belong  to  ancient  Teutonic  duchy  or  to  French  departe- 
ment;  whether  the  accepted  rule  be  code  Napoldon  or 
hoary  feudal  law.  And  thus,  up  in  his  ancestral  Burg, 
an  old  lord  of  the  land  (such  an  one  cs  the  Burgrave  of 
W  ellenshausen)  may  well  assume  that  he  still  holds  the 


xiv  Foreword 

right  of  "high  and  low  justice"  on  his  own  territory; 
whereas,  down  at  Cassel,  the  mock  Versailles,  this  same 
out-of-date  character  would  naturally  jail  in  with  the  new 
views  of  marriage  and  divorce,  or  "annulment  by  decree" 
brought  so  conclusively  into  fashion  by  the  Bonapartes, 
royal  or  Imperial. 

Above  all  this  confusion,  the  cloud  of  war,  gathering 
heavier  and  heavier.  And  from  the  mines  of  the  Harz, 
from  the  deeps  of  the  Thuringian  forests,  from  the  lanes 
of  the  old  town,  up  into  the  very  anterooms  of  the  palace, 
conspiracy  busy  at  work :  conspiracy  in  the  barracks,  con- 
spiracy in  the  universities,  exploding  on  all  sides,  futile 
squibs  as  yet,  but  ominous.  The  King  closes  his  eyes, 
seals  his  ears  to  all  but  sights  and  sounds  of  pleasure. 
So  dancing,  the  harlequin  kingdom  goes  to  its  death. 

And  it  is  through  the  mazes  of  this  carnival,  unique  in 
the  lenten  gravity  of  nations,  that  wander  the  footsteps  of 
the  singer  of  youth,  and  of  the  lovers  of  this  story. 


O  HEAR  me  sing :  —  If  youth  but  knew 
The  glory  of  his  April  day, 
Would  he  not  cast  the  year  away 

For  one  more  dawn  of  dream  and  dew  ? 

Would  he  the  fevered  moons  pursue, 
Not  rather  with  the  spring  delay, 

Crowned  with  its  leaf  ?     If  youth  but  knew 
The  glory  of  his  April  day ! 

For  what  shall  unto  age  accrue, 

If  youth  from  joyance  turn  and  stray  ? 
Autumn  is  but  the  Spring  grown  grey, 

Its  harvest  roses  mixed  with  rue.  .  .  . 

If  youth  but  knew  —  if  youth  but  knew ! 


(The  Singer  of  Youth) 

ELINOR  SWEETMAN 


"  The  something  that  lived  on,  the  miserable  carcass,  the  old  man  — 
call  it  myself,  if  you  will —  it  took  the  violets  and  began  to  'walk  away. 
And  it  has  walked  ever  since  !  " 


IF  YOUTH    BUT   KNEW 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  VAGABOND 

"  Wealth  I  seek  not,  hope  nor  love, 

Nor  a  friend  to  know  me; 
All  I  seek,  the  heaven  above 
And  the  road  below  me" 
R.  L.  STEVENSON. 

THE  traveller  sat  upon  the  milestone  just  where 
the  road,  skirting  the  brow  of  the  hill,  branched 
of!  into  the  forest.  At  his  feet  lay  the  detached 
wheel;  further  away,  in  pathetic  attitude,  the 
remainder  of  the  chaise  itself.  A  stout  bay,  seem- 
ingly unconscious  of  as  handsome  a  pair  of  broken 
knees  as  ever  horse  displayed,  was  tethered  to  a 
stump  of  tree,  browsing  such  tender  grass  or  leafage 
as  grew  within  his  reach.  The  situation  spoke  for 
itself;  and  the  young  traveller's  face  spoke  for  the 
situation  as  eloquently  as  Nature  (who  had  be- 
stowed upon  him  a  markedly  disdainful  and  some- 
what impassive  set  of  features)  would  permit. 

Behind   him   rose  the   cool   gloom  of   the  forest. 


2  "If  Youth  but  Knew ! " 

Below  lay  the  plain,  gold-powdered  by  the  level  rays 
of  a  sinking  sun.  Between  the  edge  of  the  road  and 
the  forest  margin  ran  a  stream.  A  robin  sang  to 
the  glowing  west  from  the  topmost  branch  of  a  fir 
tree.  But  he  on  the  milestone  was  blind  to  the  gold 
of  the  valley,  deaf  to  the  gold  of  the  song.  "Now, 
here's  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish !"  was  the  burden  of  his 
thoughts. 

To  have  been  stuck  a  whole  hour  upon  a  stone, 
while  a  postilion  ranged  the  country  on  horseback 
in  one  direction,  and  a  valet  a-foot  in  the  other,  and 
no  help  as  yet  forthcoming ;  not  to  have  had  himself 
within  hail,  all  those  weary  minutes,  one  single  human 
being  —  between  intervals  of  drowsiness  he  cursed 
the  peaceful  valley  land,  with  its  fair  fields  and 
orchards,  as  the  most  God-forsaken  of  countries ! 

Presently  his  moody  eye  quickened.  On  the 
road  below  a  moving  object  was  approaching. 
Only  a  pedestrian,  alas !  Nevertheless,  he  might 
prove  of  use  for  succour  or  advice. 

But,  as  the  oncomer  drew  nearer  and  began  to  foot 
the  ascent,  the  glimmer  of  hope  died  in  the  dis- 
contented gentleman's  heart.  Here  was  no  sturdy 
native,  likely  guide  to  smithy  or  village  inn.  'Twas 
a  mere  ambulant  musician,  as  strange,  doubtless, 
to  the  country  as  himself:  the  sun- rays  were  even 


The   Vagabond  3 

now  glinting  back,  roseate,  from  the  varnish  of  a 
fiddle.  —  The  traveller  relapsed  into  moodiness. 

At  the  steep  curve  of  the  hillside,  man  and  fiddle 
vanished  from  view.  Nevertheless,  that  he  was  still 
climbing,  the  advance  (in  interrupted  measure)  of 
a  singular  little  tune,  half  sourdine,  half  pizzicato, 
soon  proclaimed.  It  seemed  at  first  so  woven  in 
with  the  babble  of  the  brook,  the  deep  choiring  of 
the  forest  and  the  song  of  the  robin,  that  the  youth 
on  the  milestone  hardly  realized  its  separate  existence. 
But,  as  it  hovered  ever  closer,  he  was  forced  to  listen 
and  even  to  follow.  It  seemed  the  very  song  of  the 
rover ;  of  the  rover  on  foot,  humble  and  yet  proud ; 
without  a  penny,  without  a  bond;  glad  of  the  free 
water  to  drink  and  the  hunk  of  bread  by  the  roadside 
—  a  song  of  the  nodding  grass  and  the  bird  in  the 
hedge,  of  the  dancing  leaf,  the  darting  swallow,  the 
wide  kindly  skies.  Oh,  the  road  is  full  of  gay  things, 
and  tender  things,  of  sweetness  and  refreshment,  of 
wholesome  fatigue  and  glorious  sleep,  for  those  that 
know  its  secrets ! 

"Good  evening  to  you,  young  sir." 

The  little  tune  had  stopped.  A  man's  figure, 
exaggeratedly  thin,  black  against  the  sunset,  had 
emerged  over  the  knuckle  of  the  hill  and,  with  a  wide 
sweep  of  the  arm,  was  saluting. 


4  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

The  gesture  of  the  black  silhouette  seemed  so 
courtly,  the  voice  that  came  from  it  so  refined,  that 
the  young  gentleman  almost  rose  to  return  the 
salutation :  but,  in  time,  he  caught  sight  of  the  violin 
curves.  .  .  .  Pooh,  it  was  the  fiddling  vagabond ! 
Ashamed  of  his  impulse,  he  drew  forth  a  florin  and 
flung  it. 

The  musician  skipped  nimbly  on  one  side ;  the 
coin  fell,  flashing  in  the  red  sun-shafts.  He  looked 
from  it  to  the  imperious  donor,  whose  face  he 
scanned  keenly  for  a  moment,  then  smiled ;  and  his 
teeth  shone  as  white  as  a  wolf's  in  the  deep  tan  of  his 
face.  Then  off  went  his  battered  hat  again  and  out 
was  stretched  a  sinewy  leg  in  dusty  blue  stocking, 
to  accompany  a  bow  such  as  twenty  years  ago 
might  have  roused  the  envy  of  your  finest  Versailles 
marquis. 

"I  greet  you!  I  salute  you,  my  young  lord!" 
The  fiddler  rose  from  his  inclination  and  burst  out 
laughing.  "Oh,  cease  fondling  those  pistols  in  your 
pocket,  worthy  sir,"  cried  he,  "for  by  Calliope, 
daughter  of  Jove  and  Mnemosyne,  'tis  not  your 
money-bags  I  covet  just  now,  but,  oh !  your  golden 
youth!" 

"The  fellow  has  a  wild  eye,"  thought  the  gentle- 
man. Now,  it  is  a  question  whether  even  a  highway 


The  Vagabond  5 

robber  were  not  more  agreeable  to  encounter  on  a 
lonely  road  than  a  madman. 

"If  it  be  madness  to  honour  in  you  such  a  gift  of 
the  gods,"  said  the  singular  vagrant,  reading  the 
thought,  "why  then,  yes,  I  am  mad,  sir  —  stark, 
staring." 

He  fell  back  on  one  foot  and  bent  the  advanced 
knee,  tucked  his  instrument  under  his  chin,  where 
it  settled  like  a  bird  to  its  nest,  and  drew  his  bow 
across  the  strings  with  a  long  plaint. 

"O  youth!"  he  intoned  between  two  sighs  of  the 
catgut.  "O  spring!  O  wings  of  the  soul!  O 
virginity  of  the  heart,  expectation,  unknown  mysteries 
of  life !  O  wealth  of  strength  and  yearning !  — 
See,  now,  how  you  sit,"  he  cried,  dropping  into  speech 
again,  "on  the  fringe  of  the  forest,  in  a  strange  land, 
with  the  sunset  valley  at  your  feet,  and  the  stream 
running  you  know  not  where  beside  you,  and  the 
bird  over  your  head  singing  the  desires  of  your  soul. 
Why,  by  Apollo,  young  man,  here  are  you  in  your 
youth,  in  the  spring  of  your  world,  in  the  very  middle 
of  an  adventure,  and " 

Again  limber  fingers  moved  along  the  strings; 
and,  with  a  sense  of  wonder,  the  traveller  felt  within 
his  being  some  answering  outcry.  But  he  stiffened 
himself  against  it. 


6  "If  Youth  but  Knew !  " 

"Harkee,  my  man,"  said  he,  trying  to  frown, 
"I  am  in  no  mood  for  fooling.  Take  up  your  florin, 
and  begone.  —  Or,  stay,  earn  another  by  telling  me, 
if  you  can,  where  I  am,  and  how  far  lies  the  nearest 
village?" 

"Sir,"  replied  the  other,  urbanely,  "fellow- 
travellers  should  assist  each  other  without  any  sordid 
consideration.  (Ah,  had  you  offered  me  of  your 
youth,  now  !)  You  are,  an  it  please  you,  just  between 
the  border  of  that  old,  steady-going  principality 
of  Schwarzburg  and  the  new-fangled,  patchwork 
kingdom  which  appertaineth  to  his  Majesty  King 
Jerome  —  himself  one  of  the  crowning  products 
of  the  Great  Revolution!" 

"Faugh!"  said  the  gentleman. 

The  fiddler's  restless  eye  lighted. 

"My  lord  is  an  Englishman?  In  verity 
and  beyond  doubt,  none  but  an  Englishman 
could  wear  so  lofty  a  front.  I  need  scarce  have 
asked." 

The  young  man  stared  haughtily.  The  other 
considered  him  awhile  in  silence  with  a  sort  of  grave 
mockery,  and  pursued  then  reflectively  — 

"This  English  aloofness,  'tis  an  excellent  pre- 
scription for  pride  and  disdain  and  such-like  high 
essences.  Only  be  careful,  my  brother-wayfarer, 


The   Vagabond  7 

that  you  be  not  above  your  own  fair  youth,  and 
contemn  not  its  splendid  opportunities. 

'  Singula  de  nobis  anni praedantur  (units'1 

O  young  man !  .  .  . 

'  Eripuere  jocos,  Venerem,  cottvivia,  ludutri 

think  of  it!" 

So  saying,  he  shouldered  his  instrument,  and  with 
a  valedictory  wave  of  his  bow  seemed  about  to  take 
his  departure;  but,  as  if  upon  a  second  thought, 
stood  still,  and  once  again  observed  the  young 
man. 

Now  it  struck  the  stranded  traveller  that  there 
was  a  dignity  in  the  vagrant's  gaze,  a  refinement 
about  his  person,  which  scarce  accorded  with  the 
gipsy  appearance,  the  shabby  clothes;  that  it  was 
not  usual  for  beggars  to  quote  Horace  with  delicate 
accents  of  culture;  that  his  salutation  had  been 
a  pattern  of  courtliness;  above  all,  that  he  was  not 
the  least  impressed  by  a  young  nobleman's  most 
noble  demeanour.  And  he,  on  his  milestone,  began 
to  feel  slightly  foolish  —  an  ingenuous  blush,  indeed, 
crept  to  his  cheeks. 

The  player  hitched  round  his  fiddle  till  it  lay  across 
his  breast,  and  pinched  a  couple  of  strings  as  a  man 
might  pinch  the  cheek  of  the  wench  he  loved. 


8  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"  Pardi,"  he  said,  speaking  into  its  curved  ear, 
"that  flag  of  crimson  would  proclaim  that  there's 
hope  for  the  youth  yet.  —  Sir,"  proceeded  he  then, 
gaily,  "I  think  I  can  be  of  use  to  you.  I  place 
myself  at  your  service.  May  I  crave  to  know  whom 
I  have  the  honour  of  addressing?" 

"You  address,"  responded  the  other,  "Steven 
Lee,  Graf  zu  Waldorff-Kielmansegg,  an  Austrian 
gentleman  (if  you  must  know)  travelling  towards 
his  estate  in  the  south."  He  had  an  irrepressible 
satisfaction  in  the  recital. 

"Austrian?"  echoed  the  listener,  with  a  cock  of 
one  of  his  expressive  eyebrows.  "'Tis  a  safer 
nationality  to  proclaim  than  the  English,  for  travel- 
lers in  great  Caesar's  dominions  nowadays.  Oh, 
you  are  right,  quite  right!  'Twould  be  the  height 
of  rashness  to  proclaim  even  a  drop  of  English  blood, 
these  days,  where  Monsieur  Buonaparte  rules!" 

The  taunt  struck  home.  Red  mantled  again 
on  the  gentleman's  smooth  cheek. 

"Despite  an  Austrian  father,  I  have  by  my 
dead  mother  enough  English  blood  in  these  veins," 
cried  he,  hotly,  "to  hate  the  usurper  and  despite 
his  upstart  brothers  —  if  that  is  what  you  mean ; 
and  I  care  not  who  knows  it!" 

The    fiddler's    smile    grew    broader.     "Youth," 


The    Vagabond  9 

whispered  he  to  his  violin,  "may  pretend  to  abjure 
itself,  but  it  will  out.  The  stripling  has  spirit, 
though  it  be  but  the  spirit  of  scorn.  —  But  the  cere- 
mony is  not  complete,"  pursued  he.  "I  have  now 
to  return  your  compliment.  Above  all  things,  let 
us  be  polite.  Here,  then,  comrade,  you  see  before 
you  an  individual  known  all  over  the  country  as 
the  crazy  musician,  sometimes  more  tersely  as 
Geiger-Hans  —  what  in  your  English  you  might 
call  Fiddle- John.  Some  call  me  the  Scholar  Vaga- 
bond, and  some,  the  children  (bless  them),  Onkel. 
Like  your  own,  my  nationality  is  a  matter  of  inde- 
cision. Some  say  I  am  French,  some  German, 
some  from  over  the  Alps  —  take  your  choice;  your 
choice,  too,  of  my  title :  Geiger-Hans,  Fiddle- John, 
or  Geiger-Onkel.  Or  you  may  dub  me,  if  you 
please,  the  Singer  of  Youth." 

But  by  this  time,  Steven  Lee,  Count  Kielmansegg, 
was  disgusted  with  himself  for  having  betrayed  so 
much  of  his  feelings  to  a  beggar  vagrant. 

"Doubtless,"  remarked  he,  with  infinite  arro- 
gance, "it  may  prove  more  convenient  for  you,  at 
times,  to  hide  your  name,  good  fellow.  Reassure 
yourself,  I  have  no  curiosity  to  learn  it." 

Whereupon  Geiger-Hans  gathered  his  brows  into 
so  deep  a  frown  that  the  whole  hillside  seemed  to 


10  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

grow  black.  He  struck  the  strings  of  his  instru- 
ment, and  they  called  out  as  with  anger. 

"My  name,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  "my 
name,  boy,  is  dead  —  as  dead  as  my  youth."  Then 
he  grew  calm  as  suddenly  as  he  had  stormed.  "  Some 
happy  ones  there  are  who  die  and  whose  names 
live:  I  live,  and  my  name  is  dead.  Let  that  suffice 
to  you.  Why,  see,"  he  cried  next,  with  another 
swift  change  of  tone,  while  Count  Steven  stared  at 
him,  his  slow  Austrian  blood,  his  deliberate  Eng- 
lish wits,  unable  to  keep  pace  with  such  vivacity 
of  mood,  "it  is  getting  dark  .  .  .  the  sun  has  dropped 
behind  the  valley  line  .  .  .  the  forest  is  full  of  night 
already !  Do  not  the  lights  of  unknown  shelter 
beckon  you  —  the  chimney-corner,  the  strange  hos- 
pitality? Why,  Heaven  knows  what  sweet  hostess 
may  not  greet  your  youthship  to-night !  And  if 
your  soul  cries  not  out  for  fair  adventure  in  forest 
depth,  there,  at  least,  is  a  poor  dumb  thing  that 
craves  stable  and  corn."  As  he  spoke,  he  stepped 
nimbly  to  the  injured  horse  and  unhitched  the  reins 
from  the  tree.  "Might  you  not  have  bathed  those 
cut  knees?"  he  exclaimed,  shooting  a  look  of  rebuke 
over  the  animal's  meek  head.  "And  the  kindly 
brook  running  charity  at  your  elbow!" 

He  led  the  creature  to  the  stream;   and  the  deed 


The    Vagabond  1 1 

of  compassion  accomplished,  again  turned  to  his 
companion  with  a  smile,  which  seemed  to  show 
knowledge  of  all  the  latter's  vacillating  thoughts  of 
vexation  and  shame. 

"Lend  me  a  hand  with  the  wheel,  comrade,  and 
let  us  see  if  we  cannot  improvise  a  linchpin.  And 
then,  if  you  push  behind,  this  forgiving  beast  will 
do  his  best  to  draw  your  goods  into  safety." 

But  it  was  the  musician  who  mended  the  wheel, 
while  the  traveller  watched  in  wonder  the  work  of 
the  brown  hands.  And  then,  in  the  falling  dusk, 
they  set  upon  their  slow  way:  Steven  Lee,  Graf  zu 
Waldorff-Kielmansegg,  pushing  behind  even  as 
bid,  the  fiddler  marching  ahead  with  the  reins  slung 
over  his  arm  and  humming  a  hunting  song  under 
his  breath. 

Leaving  the  stones  and  dust  of  the  high-road,  he 
led  the  way  along  a  wide  path  that  seemed  to  cut  the 
forest  in  two  and  run  downhill  into  the  horizon. 
Beneath  their  feet  was  now  an  elastic  carpet  of  pine- 
needles.  On  each  side  of  them  the  serried  ranks 
of  trees  held  the  night  already  in  a  thousand  arms 
and  murmured  to  it  with  a  voice  as  of  the  sea.  Be- 
fore them,  at  the  end  of  the  nave,  and  set  like  a 
cathedral  window,  shone  a  span  of  sky,  primrose 
and  green,  with  one  faint  star.  And  presently 


12  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !" 

Steven  saw,  to  one  side  far  ahead,  an  orange  square 
of  light,  and  knew  it  for  the  unknown  forest  shelter 
beckoning  to  him. 

"But  what,"  cried  he,  struck  by  a  sudden  thought, 

"of  my  postilion  and  my  valet?" 

i 

Geiger-Hans  looked  back  at  him  over  his  shoulder 
and  grinned.  He  slid  the  reins  above  his  elbow 
and  grasped  his  violin. 

"To  the  devil,"  it  sang  mockingly,  through  the 
glade,  "to  the  devil  with  postilions  and  valets!  to 
the  devil  with  prudence  and  forethought !  O  youth, 
enjoy  your  youth!  O  youth,  be  young!" 


m%^~ 


But,  as  the  oncomer  drew  nearer,  the  glimmer  of  hope  died  in  the  dis- 
contented gent  I  email's  heart. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE   FOREST  HOUSE 

"S)ie8en  tiebenSttmrb'gen  3ungfing 

man  mcfyt  genug  Derefyren  .  .  ." 


HEINE. 

"HEAVEN  knows,"  had  said  the  musician,  "what 
sweet  hostess  may  not  greet  your  youthship  to-night." 

To  their  knock  the  door  was  opened  by  a  slip  of 
a  peasant  girl.  The  light  from  within  shone  on 
her  long  yellow  plaits  of  hair  and  her  small  brown 
face. 

Steven  was  conscious  of  a  distinct  shock  of  dis- 
appointment. What  folly  had  this  fantastic  chance 
companion  fiddled  into  his  mind  that  he  should 
have  found  himself  expecting  something  meet  for 
his  high-born  fancy  in  this  lonely  forest  house? 

"  Geiger-Onkel  !  "  cried  the  girl,  in  surprise. 

And  "Geiger-Onkel!"  was  echoed  joyfully  in- 
doors. An  old  peasant  woman  came  waddling 
forward,  hands  outstretched. 

"Be  kind  to  my  comrade,  Forest-mother,"  said 
the  player,  "while  I  see  to  this  brother  beast." 

13 


14  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

He  led  the  horse  towards  the  back  yard.  And 
Steven  stepped  into  the  great  kitchen,  glad  at  least  of 
its  prosaic  aroma  of  pot-herbs,  since  romance  had 
fallen  silent  with  the  fiddle. 

It  was  a  long  room,  panelled  with  age-polished 
oak  which  reflected  the  light  of  the  hanging  brass 
lamp  and  of  the  ruddy  hearth  as  jonquil  flamelets 
and  poppy  glow.  A  black  oaken  table,  running 
nearly  from  end  to  end,  was  covered  half-way  with 
a  snowy  cloth,  red-hemmed  and  flowered.  There 
were  presses,  laden  with  crockery  and  pewter. 
There  was  a  tall  clock,  with  a  merry  painted  face 
and  a  solemn  tick.  There  were  stags'  horns  and 
grinning  boars'  heads  above  the  presses.  Not  that 
Steven  had  any  interest  to  bestow  on  these  things: 
he  was  glad  that  the  place  was  clean.  He  thought 
the  oaken  chair  hard  sitting  for  his  noble  person, 
but  it  was  better  than  the  milestone.  The  Forest- 
mother  seemed  a  decent  sort  of  body;  with  a  due 
sense,  too,  of  the  quality  of  her  guest.  As  for  the 
peasant  child,  he  did  not  notice  her  at  all  —  not  even 
the  pretty  foot  in  buckled  shoe  and  scarlet  stocking, 
of  which  the  short  peasant  skirt  gave  such  a  generous 
display. 

Yet  it  was  to  her  that  Geiger-Hans  made  his 
courtly  bow  as  he  entered  in  his  turn. 


The  Forest  House  15 

"Mamzell  Sidonia!"  said  he,  his  old  hat  clapped 
over  his  heart. 

She  gave  him  a  smile,  half  tender,  half  mischievous. 
And  her  teeth  were  as  white  as  his  own  in  her  sun- 
burnt face.  There  was  a  whole  host  of  dimples,  too, 
which  a  young  man  might  have  remarked.  But 
what  mattered  the  dimples  of  a  peasant  girl? 

Then  the  fiddler  took  the  old  woman  round  the 
neck  and  kissed  her  plump,  wholesome  cheek  with 
a  smack. 

"Supper,  supper!"  cried  he.  "And  if  it's  good, 
you  shall  have  such  music  that  your  hearts  shall 
sing." 

The  girl  laughed  out  loud,  and  ran  to  the  hearth, 
where  she  seized  a  pot. 

"In  Heaven's  name,"  cried  the  woman,  "leave 
that,  child !  'Tis  not  fit  for  you." 

"Oh,  please,"  urged  Sidonia  of  the  yellow  plaits, 
"please,  little  foster-mother!" 

Forest-mother  to  the  fiddler,  foster-mother  to  the 
girl.  Steven  had  supposed  her  grandmother.  Bah  ! 
As  if,  indeed,  it  were  worth  a  thought ! 

"Get  the  wine,  then,"  said  the  matron,  with  a  jolly, 
unctuous  chuckle. 

And  while,  swinging  long  tails  of  hair  and  scarlet 
ankles  flashing,  the  girl  darted  round  the  table, 


1 6  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

what  must  this  fantastic  fellow  Geiger-Hans  do  but 
introduce  guest  and  hostess  with  one  of  his  absurd 
flourishes. 

"Here,  dear  comrade,  is  Dame  Friedel,  mother 
of  the  great  King  Jerome's  own  Head  Forester. 
And  here,  mother,  is  a  most  noble  Austrian  count, 
whom  the  accidents  of  travel  have  forced  to  con- 
descend to  the  shelter  of  your  humble  roof  this 
evening." 

Deep  curtsied  Dame  Friedel.  Steven  inclined 
his  head ;  and,  feeling  the  fiddler  mock  him  behind 
his  back,  grew  red  and  angry. 

"A  glass  in  welcome,  gracious  sir!"  tittered 
Sidonia,  at  his  elbow. 

She  was  so  close  to  him  that  his  cheek  was  fanned 
by  her  breath  of  clover  and  the  fragrance  of  a  little 
bunch  of  violets  in  her  white  kerchief  rose  to  his 
nostrils.  As  she  bent,  offering  him  the  green  goblet 
of  wine,  her  heavy  plait  fell  against  his  shoulder. 
He  drew  back  haughtily. 

"Peste!"  cried  Geiger-Hans,  "how  my  fingers 
itch  for  the  strings.  But  never  mind,  you  shall  lose 
nothing  by  waiting.  Tarteifel!  mother,  as  I  live, 
venison  stew !  What  feasts  you  good  people  make 
in  your  forest  house!" 

"My   son  is   hungry   when   he  comes   home   of 


The  Forest  House  17 

nights,  and  so  are  his  lads.  —  My  little  love,  will  you 
sit  and  entertain  the  gentlemen?" 

Sidonia,  pouting,  drew  her  chair  with  great  clatter 
round  by  that  of  Geiger-Hans  and  turned  a  shoulder 
on  the  count,  who  thus  remained  isolated,  as  became 
his  rank.  The  fiddler  drank  to  her  and  she  filled 
his  glass  again.  And,  as  she  stretched  across  him 
to  do  so,  the  violets  at  her  breast  fell  upon  his 
hand. 

"Violets!"  cried  he,  and  sat  as  if  turned  to  stone. 
His  brown  face  grew  ashen.  Then  he  pushed  his 
plate  away,  took  up  the  flowers  and  pressed  them 
against  his  lips,  inhaling  the  scent  of  them  with 
long  deep  breaths.  Presently  the  tears  ran  down 
his  cheeks ;  his  slow-drawn  sighs  were  cut  short  by 
a  kind  of  sob.  The  girl  started  to  the  old  woman's 
side  and  stood,  flushed  and  downcast,  while  the 
Forest-mother  beat  her  omelet  with  a  grave  counte- 
nance. Neither  of  them  looked  at  the  fiddler. 
Steven,  who  had  stared,  suddenly  dropped  his  glance, 
too,  ashamed  and  uncomfortable.  Geiger-Hans  got 
up  from  his  seat. 

"I  can  eat  no  more  to-night,"  he  said,  in  a  broken 
voice.  He  walked  over  to  the  bench  where  he  had 
left  his  fiddle,  and,  hugging  it,  went  out  into  the 
forest. 


1 8  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Have  you  ever  seen  him  like  that  before?" 
whispered  Sidonia  of  mother  Friedel. 

"Once,"  said  she,  "and  it  was  over  the  violet- 
bed  in  the  garden.  I  doubt  he  has  seen  trouble, 
poor  soul!  Who  has  not?" 

Sidonia  returned  to  her  seat,  propped  her  chin 
on  her  hands  and  fixed  the  young  count  absently. 
Her  eyes  were  not  black  as  he  had  thought:  they 
were  grey  and  green,  green  and  golden  brown,  like 
the  waters  of  the  brook  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

"Heavens,  sir,  how  you  stare!"  she  said  after 
a  while,  pettishly. 

The  young  aristocrat,  whose  thoughts  had  been 
all  engrossed  by  this  new  eccentricity  of  his  road 
acquaintance,  raised  his  disdainful  eyebrows.  He 
stare  at  a  country  wench?  Then  into  their  sullen 
silence  mother  Friedel  exclaimed  joyfully. 

"Hark!"  cried  she,  "here  comes  my  son!" 

From  far  away  stole  the  faint  blast  of  hunting- 
horns;  a  dog  bayed  answer  from  the  kennels,  then 
the  call  of  the  horns  arose  again  in  the  whispering 
forest  depths,  closer  and  louder. 

"Yes,  yes,  it's  the  'return  home'  they're  winding," 
said  the  old  woman,  bending  her  ear. 

Without,  there  now  rose  a  fine  clamour:  barking 
and  yelping  of  hounds,  tramping  of  horses,  blasting 


The  Forest  House  19 

of  horns,  cheerful  shouting  of  men.  The  head  for- 
ester shot  half  his  stalwart  figure  in  at  the  door  and 
nodded  with  some  mystery  to  his  mother.  What 
could  be  seen  of  his  green  uniform  was  very  grand 
indeed,  with  vast  display  of  gilt  buttons  and  royal 
crowns,  frogs  and  braid.  His  square,  freckled 
face,  made  for  jollity,  was  puckered  into  anxious 
lines ;  his  eyes  roamed  uneasily  from  Sidonia  to  the 
stranger.  He  strode  to  his  mother's  side  and  whis- 
pered in  her  ear. 

"Be  good  to  us!"  she  ejaculated,  clapping  her 
hands,  all  dismay. 

"Hush,  mother!"  warned  the  forester,  finger 
on  lip,  and  turned  towards  the  door. 

Count  Steven  had  finished  his  plate  of  venison 
stew,  and  was  condescending  to  enjoy  a  crust  of 
bread  with  a  glass  of  the  tart  wine.  The  sense  of 
expectation  about  him  made  him  now  likewise  turn 
round  in  his  chair  —  languidly,  for  the  high-born 
are  never  openly  curious. 

Outside,  in  the  night,  against  a  background  of 
flickering  leaves  and  under  the  glare  of  a  couple  of 
torches,  he  saw  a  picturesque  group  of  hounds  and 
huntsmen ;  two  of  these  last  laden  each  with  a  mur- 
dered roebuck,  whose  pretty,  innocent  head  hung 
trailing  on  the  ground.  Suddenly  the  scene  dissolved. 


20  "If  Youth  but  Kneiv!" 

A  man  came  from  the  midst  of  the  foresters  into  the 
kitchen.  The  rest  disappeared  with  their  booty; 
hounds  and  horses  were  led  away  towards  the  distant 
kennel  premises;  the  woodland  glade  resumed  its 
peace. 

As  the  new-comer  passed  him,  the  head  forester 
made  a  spasmodic  movement,  arrested  midway, 
of  hand  to  forehead.  His  mother  swept  a  dignified 
curtsey.  The  peasant  girl,  her  hands  clasped  at 
the  back  of  her  neck,  stared  with  frank  curiosity, 
her  mouth  open  so  that  all  who  cared  to  look  might 
wonder  upon  the  doubled  splendour  of  her  young 
teeth. 

He  stood  and  glanced  round  upon  them  all:  a 
slight  young  man  of  somewhat  low  stature  and 
dark,  fine-cut  face,  with  hair  cropped  short  at  back 
and  side  to  come  down  in  a  curly  wave  in  the  middle 
of  his  forehead.  He  had  large  eyes  under  thick, 
straight  eyebrows;  and  his  forester's  uniform, 
though  ostensibly  of  the  same  cut  as  Friedel's,  was 
of  finer  cloth  and  obviously  brand  new.  The  collar 
of  the  coat  rose  very  high  on  each  side  of  his  chin, 
which  in  the  centre  rested  on  folds  of  delicate  cam- 
bric. 

"  Positively,"  thought  Steven  Lee,  Count  Waldorff- 
Kielmansegg,  etc.,  "a  gentleman  like  myself!" 


The  Forest  House  21 

But  the  hunter's  first  word  dispelled  the  illusion. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  new-comer  to  the  old  dame 
—  he  spoke  German  with  a  strong  foreign  accent  — 
"my  fellow- forester  there,  Friedel,  has  assured  me 
that  you  would  give  his  brother  woodsman  hos- 
pitality to-night." 

Now,  as  he  smiled,  his  handsome  face  assumed 
a  trivial,  almost  inane,  expression,  which  destroyed 
its  look  of  breeding  and  caused  Count  Steven  to 
return  to  his  bread  and  wine  with  a  mental  shrug. 

"Any  friend  of  my  son  is  welcome  here,"  said  the 
old  lady,  smiling  doubtfully. 

Friedel  himself  grew  suddenly  scarlet,  gulped, 
blinked  and  looked  as  uncomfortable  as  any  fish 
out  of  water. 

"I  see  I  must  introduce  myself,"  cried  the  little 
man,  laughing  heartily  and  clapping  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "I  am  Mr.  Forester  —  ahem  !  —  Meyer, 
at  your  service,  madame." 

"I  wish,"  said  Steven,  "that  you  would  shut  the 
door  behind  my  back,  good  people." 

"Hey  la !"  said  Mr.  Forester  Meyer,  with  a  sudden 
imperious  note  in  his  voice,  "whom  have  we 
here?" 

"A  guest,  sir,  like  yourself,"  said  the  hostess 
somewhat  dryly,  hieing  to  her  pans ;  while  the  young 


22  " If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

nobleman  in  question  turned  his  heavy  chair  round 
again  to  supplement  her  inadequate  description. 

"An  Austrian  gentleman,  my  man,  if  it  imports 
you  to  know,"  said  he.  "  You  are  yourself,  perhaps," 
he  went  on  with  more  friendliness,  struck  by  an 
obvious  explanation  of  certain  signs  about  the 
new-comer  that  had  puzzled  him,  "the  inspector 
of  these  forests  on  your  rounds.  I  notice  you  speak 
with  authority,  and  your  accent  is  not  of  the  country 
—  a  countryman  of  this  King  Jerome?" 

Mr.  Forester  Meyer  broke  again  into  loud  laughter. 

"Hey!  what  perspicacity  has  the  gentleman!" 
cried  he,  jovially.  "  (Friend  Friedel,  shut  the  door !) 
Nay,  truly,  sir,  you  are  perfectly  right.  I  see  it 
would  be  quite  hopeless  to  maintain  an  incognito 
before  you.  It  is  true,  sir,  I  do  inspect  for  this  King 
Jerome  occasionally.  Ha,  ha!" 

"Ha,  ha!"  echoed  Sidonia,  catching  the  infec- 
tion of  mirth,  as  a  child  will,  without  reason. 

"Hey  la!    And  whom   have  we  there?" 

Mr.  Forest-Inspector  repeated  the  phrase  in  very 
different  tones.  There  came  a  curious  flicker  into  his 
eye  as  he  ran  it  up  and  down  the  girl's  figure,  from 
crown  of  yellow  head  to  scarlet  ankle  and  back  again, 
with  appreciative  pauses  on  the  way. 

"Eh,    eh!"    said   he,   meaningly.     He   took   her 


The  Forest  House  23 

chin  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  chuckled 
as  he  raised  the  crimsoning  face  to  the  light. 

"We  do  not  hold  with  French  ways  here,"  said 
Dame  Friedel,  rebukingly,  over  her  pan. 

Steven,  catching  the  gesture  of  warning  which 
her  son  instantly  addressed  to  her,  felt  a  vast  con- 
tempt for  the  fellow's  slavish  fear  of  his  little 
superior. 

The  wine,  thin  and  fragrant,  must  have  gone  some- 
what fantastically  to  the  young  nobleman's  brain. 
He  began  to  feel  defiant,  in  a  humorous  sort  of  way, 
and  to  wish  the  fiddler  back  with  his  music.  With 
his  violin  to  accompany  the  song  of  the  amber 
drink,  it  seemed  as  if  that  youthship  of  his  (on  which 
yonder  fantastic  rogue  laid  such  stress)  might  find 
some  zest  in  a  quarrel  with  Master  Forester  Meyer, 
whose  eyes  danced  so  unpleasantly  as  they  looked 
at  this  peasant  child ;  who  had  so  irritating  a  French 
shrug  and  so  mean  a  smile. 

Now,  if  he  had  an  eye  to  a  pretty  girl,  the  inspector 
seemed  to  have  also  an  ear  for  a  poacher.  The 
distant  crack  of  shots,  reverberating  from  the  forest, 
now  made  him  start  and  listen  acutely.  Yet  as 
Friedel,  with  a  frowning  countenance,  made  a  lurch 
for  his  gun  in  the  corner,  Mr.  Meyer  smiled  and 
restrained  him.  Then  he  himself  went  to  the  door, 


24  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

set  it  ajar  and  hearkened.  His  smile  widened  as 
he  closed  it  again  and  returned  to  the  table. 

"Doubtless  he  has  plans  of  his  own  for  trapping 
the  trespassers,"  thought  Steven.  It  was  the  obvious 
explanation.  And  yet  he  felt  a  kind  of  mystery 
brooding  around  him,  almost  as  if  that  adventure 
which  the  fiddler's  music  had  boded  were  about  to 
take  place.  And,  in  the  long  silence  which  succeeded, 
the  impression  deepened.  The  Frenchman  seemed 
overcome  by  an  uncontrollable  restlessness.  He 
paced  the  room  from  end  to  end,  compared  the 
merry-faced  clock  with  his  watch,  stared  out  of  the 
window  and  drummed  on  the  pane.  He  was  evi- 
dently keenly  on  the  alert  for  something:  and,  as 
Steven  vainly  cudgelled  his  not  very  quick  wits  to 
conjecture,  behold,  it  was  at  hand  ! 

Shouts  without,  steps  ...  a  tremendous  rat-tat 
at  the  door!  .  .  . 

"  'Tis  not  possible,"  cried  mother  Friedel,  with  some 
distress,  "that  Heaven  has  sent  us  more  guests?" 

This  was,  in  truth,  precisely  what  Heaven  was 
doing,  if,  indeed,  it  were  fair  to  hold  Heaven  respon- 
sible. Two  new  visitors  walked  into  the  forest 
home  without  so  much  as  a  word  of  parley.  A 
hulking  man,  also  in  forester's  uniform  ("By  Saint 
Hubert,"  said  Steven  Lee  to  himself,  "his  West- 


The  Forest  House  25 

phalian  Majesty's  rangers  seem  thick  as  leaves 
hereabouts!"),  and  a  lady  clinging  to  his  arm.  .  .  . 
Yes,  a  lady,  and  a  fair!  Steven  rose  to  his  feet. 

The  inspector  and  the  burly  new-comer  inter- 
changed a  rapid  glance.  Then,  cracking  the  whip 
he  held  in  his  hand,  the  latter  burst  into  the  most 
execrable  German,  interspersed  by  volleys  of  French 
oaths.  It  was  evident  that  King  Jerome  held  to 
servants  of  his  own  nationality. 

Morbleu!  quoth  he,  it  was  a  mercy  to  see  decent 
shelter !  Devil  take  all,  he  had  thought  that  he  and 
the  lady  would  have  had  to  spend  the  night  in  the 
forest ! 

Here  the  lady,  in  spite  of  very  pink  cheeks  and 
bright  eyes,  became  so  faint  that  she  had  to  be  assisted 
to  a  chair  by  mother  Friedel  and  her  foster-child. 
Steven  darted  to  present  a  glass  of  water,  but  was 
arrogantly  forestalled  by  Mr.  Meyer. 

"Such  a  scandal  on  his  Majesty's  high-road!" 
went  on  he  of  the  whip :  "this  lady's  coach  attacked 
by  ruffians!" 

"His  Majesty  will  be  exceedingly  displeased," 
said  Mr.  Meyer,  gravely,  sitting  down  by  the  side 
of  the  distressed  one  and  stripping  off  her  glove 
to  consult  a  delicate  wrist. 

"Her  escort  shot  at By  all  the  devils!" 


26  '•//  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Monstrous,"  quoth  the  inspector,  in  quiet 
indignation.  "A  little  wine,  madam?" 

"The  escort  —  sacred  swine,  confound  them! 
—  took  flight  and  basely  abandoned  their  charge." 

"Shocking  —  shocking!"  said  Mr.  Meyer,  re- 
linquishing one  pretty  hand  to  receive  the  empty 
glass  from  the  other. 

"If  I  had  not  happened  to  hear  the  shots  and  rush 
to  the  spot,  what  might  not  have  happened?" 

"It  makes  me  shiver  to  contemplate  it,"  asserted 
the  inspector. 

"My  brave  deliverer,"  murmured  the  lady,  in 
a  dulcet  voice.  "Single-handed,  he — 

She  suddenly  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
quivered  from  head  to  foot. 

The  inspector  looked  up  at  mother  Friedel  with 
an  air  of  grave  compassion. 

"Hysterical,"  said  he;    "ah,  no  wonder!" 

Dame  Friedel  began  to  loosen  the  lady's  handsome 
claret-coloured  travelling-mantle,  whilst  Sidonia  drew 
a  velvet,  white-plumed  hat  from  the  loveliest  dark 
head  in  all  the  world. 

"Well  .  .  .  ah!  —  Schmidt,"  said  Inspector 
Meyer,  "his  Majesty  will  hear  of  your  conduct." 

"Thank  you,  Mr. — ah!  —  Meyer,"  rejoined  the 
burly  Schmidt,  with  an  unaccountably  waggish  grin. 


The  Forest  House  27 

"Ah,  ha,  ha!"  cried  the  lady.  She  flung  back 
her  head  and  flung  down  her  hands ;  the  tears  were 
streaming  upon  her  uncovered  cheeks.  It  might 
be  hysterics,  but  Steven  thought  it  was  the  most 
becoming  combination  of  emotions  he  had  ever 
beheld. 

She  wiped  her  eyes  and  sprang  up  as  lightly  as 
a  bird.  Emerging  from  the  folds  of  her  cloak,  she 
displayed  a  clinging  robe  of  pale  blue,  fastened 
under  the  bust  by  a  belt  of  amethysts  set  in  gold. 
She  had  an  exquisite  roundness  of  form ;  an  open, 
smiling  mouth.  Her  eyes  were  innocent  and  dark 
and  deep.  She  was  (Steven  felt)  a  revelation.  And 
withal,  what  a  great  lady !  What  an  air  of  breeding ! 
What  elegance !  An  Austrian  gentleman  knows 
the  value  of  jewels.  Heavens,  what  rings  on  her 
fingers !  What  pearls  in  her  ears ! 

"Ah,  Dio  mio!"  she  cried,-  "but  I  am  hungry!" 

Italian,  then.  There  was  a  strange  medley  of 
nationalities  in  this  German  forest  corner. 

The  fixity  of  the  young  man's  gaze  suddenly 
drew  the  lady's  attention.  She  looked  at  him :  sur- 
prise, interest,  then  an  adorable  smile  Appeared  on 
her  countenance.  It  was  almost  an  invitation.  Be- 
sides, was  it  not  meet  that  the  only  gentleman  of 
the  party  should  entertain  the  only  lady?  With 


28  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

his  heart  beating  in  his  throat,  he  took  two  steps 
forward.  The  three  foresters  had  drawn  apart  and 
were  whispering  together  with  furtive  glances  in  his 
direction ;  but  he  was  not  likely  to  notice  this  when 
such  lovely  eyes  were  upon  him.  She  dropped  her 
handkerchief.  He  rushed  to  pick  it  up.  As  she 
took  it  from  his  fingers,  he  gave  them  ever  so  slight 
a  pressure. 

(Oh,  Geiger-Hans,  Singer  of  Youth,  hadst  thou 
foreseen  this  rapturous  moment?) 

"A  thousand  graces,"  murmured  she.  The  graces ! 
they  were  all  her  own. 

"Permit  me  to  introduce  myself,"  he  stammered. 

But  the  inspector  cut  him  short  with  a  strident 
voice. 

"The   gentleman   must   be    fatigued,"  he  cried. 

Steven  started  angrily.  To  one  side  of  him  stood 
Forester  Schmidt,  to  the  other,  Forester  Friedel. 

"I  will  show  the  gracious  gentleman  the  way  to 
his  repose,"  said  the  latter  in  his  ear,  with  subdued, 
yet  warning  tone. 

"And  I  will  give  you  my  help  to  the  door,  tonnerre 
de  Brest /".  exclaimed  the  other,  and  caught  the 
^Count's  arm  under  his  with  a  grip  of  iron. 

Steven  wrenched  himself  free.  Yet  a  man  has 
not  sober  English  blood  in  him  for  nothing.  Humili- 


As  she  tent,  offer  ing  him  the  green  goblet  of  wine,  her  heu-'y  plait  fell 
against  his  shoulder.     Me  drew  back  haughtily. 


The  Forest  House  29 

ating  as  was  the  position,  a  moment's  reflection  con- 
vinced him  that  resistance  and  futile  struggle  would 
but  render  him  ridiculous.  Ridiculous,  in  the  light 
of  those  dark  eyes! 

"Lead,  then,  fellow,"  said  he  to  Friedel ;  and,  after 
bowing  low  to  the  lady,  followed  his  escort  with  what 
dignity  he  could  muster  towards  the  door  opening 
on  the  forest. 

There  was  such  a  seething  of  rage  in  his  brain, 
such  an  itching  in  his  palm  to  feel  it  against  yonder 
insolent  Schmidt's  full  cheek,  that  it  was  not  till  he 
found  himself  on  the  threshold  of  a  dimly  lighted 
wooden  building,  gazing  blankly  in  upon  heaps  of 
straw,  that  he  realized  that  a  barn  was  considered 
good  enough  for  the  night's  lodging  of  a  Count 
Waldorff-  Ki  elmansegg. 

"May  you  rest  you  sweetly,  sir,"  said  Friedel, 
and  tramped  away. 


CHAPTER  III 

GREEN   ADVENTURE 

"  Non  ego  hoc  ferrem,  calidus  juventa, 
Consule  Planco." 

HORACE. 
"COMRADES  again!" 

Turning  round  with  a  start,  Steven  beheld  the 
crazy  musician  at  his  elbow. 

"Comrades  on  the  straw  —  eh  !  What  a  bed  for 
his  lordship.  Mistrables!  they  have  no  conception 
of  the  importance  of  rank,  these  benighted  forest 
folk.  Yet  give  me  the  clean,  yellow  straw,  smelling 
in  the  dark  of  sunshine  and  whispering  of  the  fields, 
rather  than  your  stuffy  German  mountains  of 
feathers." 

"  Geiger-Onkel !  Geiger-Onkel !"  came  a  shrill 
cry  into  the  night. 

The  fiddler  turned  with  a  bound  and  ran  into  the 
middle  of  the  moonlit  yard,  staring  up  at  the  house 
that  stood  outlined  against  the  pale  sky.  From 
some  distant  regions,  where  Friedel's  underlings 
kennelled  near  their  hounds,  rose  shouts  of  boorish 
laughter  and  the  chorus  of  a  drinking  song. 

30 


Green  Adventure  3* 

A  yellow  tongue  of  flame  appeared  in  a  wooden 
balcony,  hanging  under  the  roof.  Sidonia  bent 
over,  shielding  her  candle  from  the  forest  airs. 

"Are  you  there,  Geiger-Onkel?" 

"Yes,  child." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad.  .  .  .  Geiger-Onkel"  —  she 
leaned  over  still  further;  her  tresses  hung  down,  one 
shone  ruddy  with  the  candle-gleam  and  one  silver 
in  the  moonlight ;  her  voice  was  broken  with  angry 
tremors  —  "he  tried  to  kiss  me!" 

"Mori  de  ma  vie  —  who?" 

"The  big  man  with  the  whip.  He  caught  me  by 
the  waist.  I  had  nothing  to  hit  him  with  but  my 
plaits.  I  lashed  him  in  the  face.  They  caught  him 
across  the  eyes " 

"Caught  him  across  the  eyes,"  cried  the  fiddler, 
clapping  his  hands.  "Ah,  brava,  little  mam- 
zell!" 

"They  whistled  like  a  rope"  —  the  girl  was 
laughing  and  crying  together  —  "I  think  I  have 
half-blinded  him.  Mayn't  I  come  down  to  you, 
Onkel?  I  want  to  talk  .  .  .  and  I  want  music." 

"Better  not,"  said  fiddler  Hans,  after  a  moment's 
reflection ;  and  then  from  the  shadow  Steven  stepped 
out  beside  him.  (It  was  terrible  to  think  of  the  dark- 
eyed  lady  in  the  company  of  such  ruffians !)  Si- 


32  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

donia,  with  a  cry,  drew  back  at  sight  of  the  new 
shadow. 

"Nay,  never  be  afraid  of  him.  It  is  my  comrade. 
As  for  the  others  —  why,  go  in,  child ;  bolt  your 
door,"  said  the  fiddler.  "Go  to  bed  and  sleep  in 
peace.  I  shall  watch." 

"But  you  will  play  for  me?"  she  asked  over  her 
shoulder. 

"Presently,  I  may,"  said  he;  "such  a  tune,  little 
mamzell,  that  will  make  some  people  dance  1  But 
to  you  it  shall  give  sweet  sleep." 

As  the  girl  disappeared,  Geiger-Hans  turned  upon 
Steven.  He  laughed  as  he  addressed  the  young  man, 
but  his  eyes  were  fierce  as  some  wild  beast's  in  the 
dim  light. 

"Did  you  hear?"  said  he.  "The  maid  struck 
him ;  but  you  —  oh  you  —  you  let  yourself  be  turned 
out !  Oh,  to  see  you  trot  away  like  a  lamb.  Steven 
Lee,  Graf  zu  Waldorff-Kielmansegg,  turned  out  of 
doors  by  two  low-bred  foresters !  What,  then,  runs 
in  your  veins  ?  What,  turnip-juice  instead  of  blood  ? 
The  fellow,  Schmidt  so-called,  laid  hands  on  you, 
did  he  not  ?  And  you  a  youth !  By  the  blood  of 
my  fathers,  had  the  creature  touched  me,  old  man  as 
I  am,  he  had  felt  the  weight  of  his  own  whip !  But 
the  fellow  has  muscles.  Nay,  you  were  right,  sir, 


Green  Adventure  33 

right.  Let  us  be  prudent,  by  all  means.  Only 
that  mask  of  yours  lies,  that  smooth  cheek,  that  crisp 
curl  —  all  lies.  Young,  yes.  Only  your  heart  is 
not  young.  'Tis  like  the  kernel  of  a  blind  nut  — 
dry  dust.  While  I  —  there  is  more  of  God's  youth 
left  in  my  worn  and  waning  body " 

"Confusion!"  interrupted  Steven,  trembling  in 
every  limb,  hurt  to  the  marrow  of  his  pride;  "it 
was  before  the  lady." 

"Oh,  the  lady  ...  !"  echoed  the  other,  with  a 
mocking  trail  of  laughter. 

During  the  vehemence  of  his  speech  the  musician 
had  advanced  on  the  lad,  who  had  unconsciously 
drawn  back  until  he  stood  against  the  wall  of  the 
house.  Now  a  window  close  to  him  was  unlatched ; 
and  the  sound  of  a  sigh,  rather  than  a  voice,  was 
breathed  forth  into  the  night. 

"Ah,  Dio!" 

"Your  cue !"  mocked  the  fiddler  into  his  ear,  and 
melted  away  into  the  darkness. 

The  window  was  that  of  a  room  on  the  ground 
floor;  the  lady  leaned  out,  her  elbows  on  the  sill; 
her  face  caught  a  slanting  ray  of  moonlight. 
Was  it  possible  for  anything  mortal  to  be  so 
beautiful? 

"Madam!"  cried  Steven,  and  that  heart  of  his 


34  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

which  was  supposed  to  be  but  dry  dust  began  to 
thump  in  hitherto  unknown  fashion. 

"Hush,  hush!"  she  whispered,  a  taper  finger  on 
her  lip.  "Ah,  is  it  you,  sir?" 

He  advanced  into  the  ray  that  held  her.  He  was 
not  aware  that  he  also  looked  goodly  and  romantic. 
Somewhere,  in  the  darkness  close  by,  the  fiddler's 
bow  crept  over  the  strings.  It  was  a  sound  so  attenu- 
ated that  it  seemed  to  have  no  more  substance  than 
the  light  of  the  moon  itself;  it  stole  upon  their  ears 
so  gently  that  it  was  as  if  they  heard  it  not.  His  hand 
met  her  warm  fingers  —  the  fragrance  from  her  curls 
mounted  to  his  nostrils;  she  looked  up  at  him  and 
her  eyes  glistened. 

Oh,  fiddler,  what  bewitching  music  is  this  ?  What 
sweetness  does  it  insinuate,  what  mysterious  audacity 
counsel  ?  There  were  those  parted  lips  of  hers,  with 
white  teeth  gleaming  through,  and  here  was  this 
youth  who  had  never  touched  a  woman's  lips  in 
love.  Such  a  little  way  between  his  bent  head  and 
her  upturned  face  .  .  .  ! 

A  door  crashed  behind  her.  She  started  from 
his  timid  hand.  The  thread  of  the  music  was 
broken  like  a  floating  gossamer. 

Steven  thought  that  the  fiddler  laughed.  There 
was  a  faint  exclamation.  Heavens !  did  she 


Green  Adventure  35 

also  laugh?  He  saw  —  yes,  he  saw  the  inspector's 
hated  outline  over  hers.  She  was  drawn  from  the 
window  by  the  shoulders,  the  shutters  were  clapped 
to  in  his  face  and  bolted  noisily.  The  yard  billowed 
under  his  feet.  All  went  red  before  his  eyes.  That 
was  her  room,  and  the  man  had  followed  her  to  it ! 
Had  he  no  youth  in  him,  no  blood  in  his  veins?  .  .  . 
Why,  he  could  taste  it  on  his  tongue !  He  pivoted 
round  upon  himself,  made  a  blind  rush  for  the 
entrance  door,  and  dashed  headlong  against  Ranger 
Schmidt's  broad  chest. 

A  French  oath  rang  out.  Then  broken  German : 
"  Can  the  kerl  not  see  where  he  is  going  ?  "  Then,  in 
the  dark,  the  fiddler  laughed  again.  Or  was  it  his 
music?. or  were  there  lurking  devils  taunting,  jeer- 
ing, inciting?  The  young  man  never  knew  exactly 
what  happened  till  a  crack  like  a  pistol-shot  sprang 
upon  the  night,  and  he  realized  that  his  hand  had 
found  the  broad,  insolent  face  at  last.  The  sound  of 
that  slap  cleared  the  confusion  in  his  own  brain  as 
a  puff  of  wind  clears  a  hanging  mist.  Schmidt 
gave  a  roar  like  a  furious  bull,  but  Steven  met  the  on- 
slaught of  the  uplifted  whip  with  the  science  learned 
in  London  of  Gentleman  Jackson  and  there  was  a 
grip  on  either  side  which  began  for  him  in  glorious 
defiance  and  ended  in  a  struggle  of  life  and  death. 


36  "  If  Youth,  but  Knew  !  " 

The  fiddler  worked  his  bow  like  one  possessed. 
It  was  a  fierce  song  of  fight  that  now  rose,  ever 
shriller,  louder,  and  faster,  up  towards  the  placid 
sky.  The  air  was  thick  with  the  curses,  blue  with 
the  profanity,  of  Forester  Schmidt.  But  Steven 
fought  like  a  gentleman,  in  silence.  To  his  dying 
day  he  maintained  that  he  was  getting  the  better  of 
the  hulking  bully,  when  his  heel  caught  in  an  up- 
standing root,  and  he  fell  with  a  crash,  his  opponent 
over  him.  There  was  a  moment's  agony  of  suffoca- 
tion, then  the  gleam  before  his  eyes  of  a  bared  blade, 
gilt-blue  in  the  moonlight,  two  echoing  shouts,  a 
woman's  scream.  And  then  Count  Waldorff-Kiel- 
mansegg  lost  consciousness,  his  wits  marching  away 
at  double-quick  time  to  the  lilt  of  an  extraordinarily 
joyous  vulgar  little  tune. 

$     •  :$  '       £  £  $ 

"Oh,  Geiger-Onkel,  is  he  dead?" 

The  girl  with  the  yellow  plaits  stood  in  the  light 
of  the  lantern;  her  wide  eyes  seemed  to  devour 
her  face,  white  even  in  that  uncertain  glimmer; 
her  parted  lips  quivered.  From  the  forest  house 
came  the  sound  of  loud  wrangling  voices,  dominated 
presently  by  rhythmic  feminine  screams.  In  the 
kennels  the  dogs  were  barking  furiously :  it  was  a 
distracting  clamour. 


Green  Adventure  37 

Yet  the  stillness  of  the  young  man's  comely  figure, 
relaxed  at  its  length  on  the  straw,  the  pallor  of  his 
head,  thrown  back  like  a  sleeping  child's  against 
the  fiddler's  knee,  seemed  to  make  its  own  circle 
of  silence. 

"Dead?"  echoed  the  vagrant.  "Dead  for  a 
crack  on  the  skull!"  His  tone  was  contemptuous. 
Yet  his  lean  hands  shook  as  they  busied  themselves 
in  loosening  Count  Steven's  very  fine  stock;  and 
there  was  concern  in  his  attitude  as  he  bent  over  the 
youth's  face,  cruelly  beautiful  in  its  white  uncon- 
sciousness. 

Now  Sidonia,  the  forest-mother's  foster-child, 
remembered  Geiger-Hans  as  far  back  as  she  could 
remember  anything,  and  knew  every  shade  of  that 
sardonic  visage.  Dark  she  had  often  seen  it,  with 
a  far-away  melancholy  —  a  melancholy,  it  seemed, 
beyond  anything  that  life  could  touch.  She  had 
known  it  alight  with  mockery,  softened  into  a  won- 
derful tenderness  that  was  for  her  alone,  of  all  human 
beings,  and  for  all  sick  or  helpless  animals.  But 
moved  to  anxiousness  as  now,  never  before.  She 
clasped  her  hands  across  the  fluttering  of  her  heart. 
Geiger-Hans  glanced  at  her  again  and  laughed 
gently.  The  traveller's  befrogged  coat  was  loose  at 
last,  the  column  of  his  young  throat  bare,  and  the 


38  "If  Yotith  bttt  Knew!" 

musician  had  slipped  a  hand  between  the  folds  of 
a  shirt  finer  than  the  girl's  own  snowy  bodice. 

"Why,  little  Sidonia,"  said  he,  as  if  she  was  once 
again  the  child,  "you  look  as  scared  as  a  rabbit  in 
a  trap.  Dead,  this  lad  ?  Nay,  his  English  mother, 
whoever  she  was,  has  built  him  too  well  for  that. 
Why,  here's  a  heart  for  you  !  With  decent  luck,  it 
should  make  him  swing  into  his  nineties  as  steadily 
as  the  drums  of  the  Old  Guard." 

As  he  spoke,  he  shifted  the  burden  of  the  languid 
head  to  a  convenient  pile  of  straw,  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  stood  laughing  again. 

"Our  wits  are  not  the  strongest  part  of  us,"  he 
mocked.  "They're  always  like  to  be  the  first  things 
we  lose."  His  lips  twisted  as  he  glanced  down- 
ward. "A  knock  on  our  pate,  and  it  is  all  away  with 
them." 

"For  shame,  Geiger-Onkel !"  cried  the  girl. 
The  colour  flamed  into  her  face :  upon  the  reaction 
of  her  relief,  she  was  glad  to  find  anger,  else  she 
must  have  burst  into  tears.  She  knelt  down  by 
her  ungracious  guest,  and,  on  a  nearer  view,  mis- 
giving once  more  crept  upon  her.  Her  little  hands 
hovered.  "Oh,  Onkel,"  she  cried,  "yet  he  looks 
like  death!" 

"Nay,   satisfy  yourself,   then,"  said  the  fiddler, 


Green  Adventure  39 

encouragingly;  "women  are  all  cousins,  even  to 
Mamzell  Sidonia." 

His  tone  seemed  scornful,  but  there  was  some- 
thing genial,  something  almost  of  hope  and  pleasure, 
in  his  eyes  as  he  watched  the  maid  bend  over  the 
comely  youth,  watched  her  lay  a  timid  touch  over 
his  heart. 

"It  beats,"  said  Sidonia,  in  a  whisper,  "it  beats." 
She  spoke  as  of  a  wonderful  thing.  A  smile  came 
like  a  dream  across  her  face.  Her  touch  lingered. 
"How  strong  !"  she  said. 

"The  heart  of  a  young  man  should  be  strong," 
quoth  the  fiddler. 

"And  how  steady,"  went  on  the  girl. 

And  the  fiddler  answered:  "Strength  is  waste 
without  steadiness." 

She  crouched,  looking  up  at  him,  the  smile  of 
wonder  on  her  lips.  Then  she  looked  down  again 
at  the  pale  face. 

"His  heart  beats  beautifully,  but  when  will  he 
wake  again?" 

"It  is  to  be  hoped,  not  till  to-morrow  morning. 
And,"  added  the  other  more  gravely,  "he  must  not 
be  awaked.  Nature  knows  what  she  is  about,  and 
she  is  rocking  her  young  friend  to  the  tune  of  her 
own  remedy.  Nay,  never  fear,  little  mamzell,  the 


40  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

lad  is  but  stunned.  He  will  sleep  till  morning, 
and  wake  scarce  the  worse.  Leave  him,  child,  he 
lies  well  enough." 

"He  lies  very  ill,"  flashed  she.  "You  were 
kinder  to  the  old  white  horse.  A  pillow  he  shall 
have,"  she  scolded,  and  was  gone  on  her  light  foot. 

The  wrangling  sounds  were  now  stilled  within 
and  without  the  forest  house.  The  cries  of  the 
hounds  had  fallen  into  silence.  As  for  the  rhythmic 
hysterics  of  the  travelling  lady,  they  had  given  place 
to  soft  gurgles  of  laughter.  These  punctuated  the 
more  continuous  rumble  of  a  bass  undertone;  her 
window  was  evidently  once  more  open  to  the  night. 
The  musician  gazed  down  at  the  youth's  upturned 
face. 

"What  dreams  you  could  have  had,  you  dog,  had 
your  foolish  wits  not  taken  leave  of  absence,"  he 
murmured.  With  an  unconscious  gesture  he  reached 
for  his  fiddle,  as  if  to  clothe  the  thought  in  its  own 
tune.  But  he  paused  before  touching  a  string. 
"No,  sweet  friend,"  he  muttered,  "thou  must  be 
put  to  baser  uses  before  dawn.  And  till  then  thy 
fancies  and  mine  must  sleep." 

A  twig  cracked  sharply.  With  heavy  tread,  yet 
noiselessly,  in  her  list  slippers,  the  forest-mother 
waddled  into  the  barn.  There  was  the  gleam  of  a 


Green  Adventure  41 

white  basin  in  her  hand,  whence  arose  a  sour  pun- 
gency. 

"The  good  God  and  His  holy  mother  preserve  us 
this  night!"  she  ejaculated  in  a  creaking  whisper. 
"I  have  brought  a  compress  for  the  poor  young 
gentleman's  head.  Eh,  but  the  gracious  one  was 
haughty,  and  pride  will  have  a  fall !  But  there,  my 
heart  goes  out  to  lads,  be  they  high  or  low.  Hey, 
jeminy,"  she  clacked  her  tongue,  "it's  enough  to 
give  one  a  turn  to  see  him  lying  there ! " 

Though  the  words  were  rueful  the  tone  was  almost 
cheery.  She  had  been  witness  of  many  hard  knocks 
in  her  day ;  and  she  knew  —  none  better  —  the 
stuff  of  which  solid  Kerls  are  made. 

"Keep  your  vinegar  for  little  gherkins,  mother," 
said  the  musician,  gaily.  "We  want  no  more  pickle 
here  to-night." 

Further  gibing  was  silenced  on  his  lips,  for  Si- 
donia  came  back  upon  them  like  a  small  whirlwind, 
clasping  her  pillow  by  the  middle,  heedless  that  one 
comer  of  it  should  knock  off  the  fiddler's  hat,  the 
other  all  but  upset  the  vinegar  lotion.  But  her 
impetuosity  gave  place  to  fairy  gentleness  as  she 
knelt  beside  Steven  and  drew  his  head  into  her  lap, 
spreading  meanwhile  the  pillow  into  its  proper  place. 

"Save  us  and  bless  us!"  exclaimed  the  forest- 


42  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

mother.  "Sidonia!  Here,  Geiger-Onkel,  take  the 
vinegar!"  And,  quite  flustered,  she  thrust  her 
basin  upon  him. 

"Foster-mother,"  said  Sidonia,  looking  up  re- 
bukingly,  "he  must  not  be  awakened."  She  laid 
her  hand  protectingly  upon  the  crisp  brown  curls. 

"But,   child,"   groaned   the   forest-mother,    "this 

is  no  work  for  a  —  no  work  for  you.     Himmel ! 

the  strange  gentleman's  head  on  your  lap ;  and  you 

-  what    you    are !    It    is    not    fitting.     It    is    not 

maidenly!" 

"Tscha !"  said  the  fiddler,  testily,  and  forced  back 
the  bowl  upon  the  irate  old  woman.  "Good 
mother,  leave  the  child  alone.  See,  she  has  laid 
the  young  gentleman's  head  quite  prettily  on  the 
pillow,  and  now  she  is  going  straight  to  bed.  It  is 
late,  for  good  children." 

Sidonia  had  leaped  to  her  feet.  She  came  slowly 
towards  the  two  who  were  watching  her,  tossing  her 
head.  But,  with  all  her  pride,  she  could  not  conceal 
that  she  was  blushing  to  tears.  Suddenly  she 
darted  past  them  into  the  night,  and  her  feet  could 
be  heard  pattering  up  the  outside  wooden  stairs 
that  led  to  her  gable  room. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS 

"  Come  like  shadows,  so  depart." 
(Macbeth). 

"FOREST-MOTHER,"  said  the  fiddler,  dryly,  "you 
know  a  great  deal  about  sturdy  forest  lads,  and  you 
make  the  best  pickles  in  the  country :  but  you  know 
nothing  at  all  about  little  maids." 

And,  as  the  honest  woman  stared  at  him  open- 
mouthed,  he  took  her  genially  by  the  shoulders  and 
turned  her  towards  the  door. 

"  Everything  the  child  has  done  to-night  has  been 
right  and  becoming,"  he  went  on,  half  regretfully, 
half  smilingly,  "even  because  she  was  a  child.  But, 
mark  me,  from  to-night  she  is  child  no  longer. 
And  all  that  her  heart  prompts  her  to  do  now  will 
be  wrong.  Go  to  bed,  mother,"  he  added  in  a 
different  tone;  "and  if  you  hear  my  fiddle  speaking 
by-and-by  and  a  rumble  of  carriage-wheels  there- 
after, why,  turn  you  over  on  the  other  ear  and  think 
you  have  dreamed  a  strange  dream." 

43 


44  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

On  her  limp  slippers  the  forest-mother  trotted 
a  few  steps  forward,  obediently;  then  she  halted, 
hesitated,  and  turned  back.  Her  shrewd,  kindly 
face  was  all  puckered  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Geiger-Hans,"  she  called  solemnly.  Her  tone 
was  so  full  of  mystery  and  import  that  he  came  to 
her  in  two  steps.  She  jerked  her  thumb  over  her 
shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  open  window,  whence 
the  voice  and  the  soft  laughter  still  crept  out  upon 
the  forest  stillness.  "Yonder  —  in  there" — she 
whispered  —  "him !" 

He  interrupted  her.  "I  know:  I  saw  him  come, 
little  mother;  and  I  have  spoken  with  Friedel." 

"He  looked  at  her  a  great  deal,"  she  insisted. 

"At  whom?    At  little  Sidonia?" 

"Ay;  and  he  took  her  by  the  chin." 

"Did  he  so?"  said  Geiger-Hans.  His  low  voice 
had  a  tremor  of  anger.  Then  he  was  silent;  and 
the  forest-mother  stood  waiting,  her  eyes  confidently 
on  him.  A  fantastic  figure  in  the  moonshine,  yet 
this  solid  peasant  woman  seemed  to  leave  her 
anxieties  with  confidence  in  his  hands. 

"I  can  rid  you  of  your  unexpected  honours  for 
to-night,"  said  the  vagrant  musician  at  last.  "But 
who  can  guard  the  fawn  in  the  forest  from  the  cun- 
ning hunter?  Fritz  must  take  back  Mamzell 


Parting  of  the   Ways  45 

Sidonia    home    before    he    goes    his    rounds    to- 
morrow." 

"And  she  only  just  come,  and  so  happy,  poor 
lamb!" 

But  she  made  no  further  protest,  and  went  with 
her  vinegar  softly  back  to  the  house. 

***** 

The  fiddler  returned  to  the  barn,  and  cast  once 
more  a  look  at  him  who  slept  so  deeply.  Thence 
his  light,  long,  striding  step  brought  him  to  the  shed 
where  the  patched  coach  stood.  From  its  recesses 
he  took  the  traveller's  cloak,  and,  returning,  cast 
it  over  the  inanimate  figure.  And,  having  shifted 
the  shade  of  the  lantern,  his  restlessness  took  him 
back  into  the  night.  He  was  nursing  his  fiddle  as 
he  went. 

"What  things,"  he  said,  addressing  it  as  the 
court  fool  of  old  his  bauble  (after  that  singular 
fashion  which  led  people  to  call  him  crazy)  — 
"what  things,  beloved,  could  we  not  converse  upon 
to-night,  were  we  not  constrained  by  sinners  ?  What 
a  song  of  the  call  of  the  spring  to  last  year's  fawn  — 
of  the  dream  that  comes  to  the  dreamer  but  once  in 
his  life's  day,  and  that  before  the  dawn !  Chaste 
and  still  as  the  night,  and  yet  tremulous;  shadows, 
mere  shadows,  and  yet  afire  —  voiceless,  formless, 


46  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

impalpable,  and  yet  something  more  lovely  than  all 
the  sunshine  can  show,  than  all  the  beauty  arms  can 
hold  hereafter,  than  all  the  music  ears  shall  hear. 
A  prescience  not  yet  a  presence,  a  yearning  not  yet 
a  desire.  ...  O  youth!  O  love!"  sighed  the  fid- 
dler, and  drew  from  his  fiddle  a  long  echo  to  the 
sigh.  "But  when  we  deal  with  rascals  we  must 
play  rascally  tunes." 

The  rapscallion  air,  to  which  poor  Steven's  wits 
had  danced  away  from  him,  broke  shrilly,  almost 
indecently,  upon  the  beautiful  calmness  of  the  mid- 
night hour. 

Big  Mr.  Forester  Schmidt,  seated  comfortably 
in  mother  Friedel's  elbow-chair,  his  feet  upon  the 
table  and  a  long  glass  of  the  straw-coloured  wine  at 
his  elbow,  was  aroused  from  an  agreeable  somno- 
lence by  the  sudden  screech.  Friedel,  frankly 
asleep  in  a  corner,  woke  with  a  start,  and  muttered 
a  not  ill-natured  curse  on  the  mad  fiddler. 

At  the  same  time  the  door  leading  from  the  kitchen 
to  the  lady's  parlour  was  quickly  opened,  and  the 
head  of  Herr  Inspector  Meyer  was  thrust  through 
the  aperture.  This  gentleman's  good-looking 
countenance  seemed  sadly  discomfited,  his  airs  of 
blatant  importance  shaken. 

"Diavolo!  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  that?"    he  cried  to 


Parting  of  the    Ways  47 

his  burly  friend.  "There  it  is  again!  I  tell  you  it 
means  something.  It  always  means  something! 
Remember  Brest  .  .  .  and  remember  Smolensk!" 

"It  means  that  I'll  go  and  throttle  him  with  his 
own  catgut,"  cried  Schmidt,  letting  his  heavy- 
booted  feet  fall  upon  the  floor  with  a  stamp.  "Look 
here,  you  fellow,  you  Friedel,  here,  with  your  gun, 
and  let  us  see  how  you  Germans  can  shoot !  Down 
with  that  caterwauler  .  .  .  and  his  Majesty  will 
make  you  a  present  of  the  hide." 

Friedel  had  gathered  his  sleepy  carcase  together 
upon  the  appearance  of  the  inspector.  He  now 
stood  very  respectfully  at  attention.  But  there  was 
nothing  respectful  in  the  small,  fierce  blue  eyes  he 
fixed  upon  Mr.  Schmidt. 

"May  it  please  your  Excellency,"  he  began. 
But  Mr.  Meyer,  interrupting  him  irritably,  came 
down  into  the  room,  snapping  his  fingers,  stamp- 
ing his  little  feet. 

"Hark,  hark!  Do  you  hear  that?"  he  cried, 
and  seized  Schmidt  by  the  arm.  "I  tell  you,  man, 
you  are  a  fool.  Will  you  say  now  that  this  is  no 
warning,  no  menace?  Hark!" 

He  flung  up  his  head,  and  his  own  intentness  of 
listening,  something  also  of  his  mysterious  agitation, 
seemed  to  communicate  itself  to  his  irate  lieutenant. 


48  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

They  stood  holding  their  breath;  and  bewildered 
Friedel  hearkened  too. 

The  fiddler's  mocking  tune  had  merged  into  an- 
other theme.  The  night  was  vibrating  to  a  deeper 
sonority,  a  more  noble  rhythm.  Friedel  thought  he 
must  be  still  dreaming,  for  he  seemed  suddenly  to 
see  serried  ranks  of  soldiers  marching  down  a  dusty 
road,  tall  fellows,  with  hollow,  tanned  cheeks  and 
towering  bearskins,  their  long  white  legs  swinging 
by  him  as  they  tramped.  It  was  not  the  thin  sound 
of  strings  that  was  in  his  ears,  but  the  bugle's  call 
and  the  rattle  of  drums. 

"Thunder!  It  is  the  chaunt  of  the  Old  Guard!" 
He  was  scarce  aware  he  had  spoken  aloud,  until  the 
inspector  caught  up  his  words  in  a  high  key  of 
excitement. 

"There,"  he  cried,  turning  with  a  sort  of  femi- 
nine frenzy  upon  his  friend,  "even  that  blockhead 
hears  it !  I  tell  you,  General,  we  must  out  of  this. 
And  the  woman  must  go  too.  'Tis  his  will,  the 
big  tyrant." 

He  paused  for  a  moment;  and  then  resumed, 
well-nigh  dancing  in  his  exasperation: 

"The  carriage,  the  carriage  at  once!  D'Albi- 
gnac!  Leave  that  gun  alone!"  he  shrieked.  "I 
won't  have  the  fellow  touched.  Last  time,  last 


Parting  of  the    Ways  49 

time "  he  paused  again  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  dare  not,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.     "It  is  not 

wholesome ! " 

***** 

Steven  opened  heavy  eyes  and  stared  vacantly  at 
the  creeping  light,  indigo  between  the  wisps  of 
yellow  straw;  at  the  large  square  of  shimmering 
mists  and  flickering  leaves  where  the  barn  door 
stood  open  to  the  dawn.  He  turned  his  head  and 
found  that  it  lay  on  a  fragrant  linen  pillow,  and  also 
that  it  ached  vaguely  in  spite  of  this  luxury. 

A  vulgar,  absurd  tune  was  still  dancing  in  his 
brain.  Then  he  caught  within  his  range  of  vision 
the  figure  of  a  man  sitting  cross-legged,  putting  a 
fresh  string  to  a  fiddle.  And  memory  came  back 
slowly. 

"It  was  the  fault  of  the  music,  you  know,"  he 
said. 

Geiger-Hans  shot  a  look  at  him  from  under  his 
quizzical  eyebrows. 

"You  never  got  that  kiss  in  after  all." 

"Ah,  but  I  got  in  my  slap  !" 

The  young  man  sat  up,  quite  inspirited  by  the 
recollection,  and  discovered  that,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  some  dizziness  and  stiffness,  there  was  noth- 
ing much  amiss  with  him. 


50  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"But  some  one  very  nearly  got  his  hunting-knife 
into  you,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  dryly,  "and  there 
would  have  been  an  end  of  your  learning  to  be 
young.  Nevertheless,  you  have  capabilities  —  yes, 
some  capabilities."  He  wound  up  his  string, 
twanged  it,  and  nodded  over  it. 

A  cock  crew  in  the  forest  farmyard.  A  robin  was 
singing  somewhere  amid  a  babel  of  chirping  birds. 
The  breeze,  balm-scented,  flew  straight  in  from  the 
pines  and  fanned  Stephen's  head  and  throat.  He 
lifted  his  hand  to  his  open  shirt  and  looked  in- 
quiringly at  the  musician,  who  nodded  again. 

"You  were  stunned  by  the  fall,"  said  Geiger- 
Hans,  "with  that  brute  on  the  top  of  you.  For- 
tunate for  you  that  I  caught  his  hand  at  the  right 
moment !  And  thereupon  the  little  man,  the  Herr 
Inspector,  you  know,  ran  out  screaming,  'No  blood- 
shed, d'Albignac!'  ...  It  is  his  one  good  point: 
he  is  merciful  of  life." 

"The  little  man?  .  .  .  D'Albignac?"  Steven 
echoed  the  words  in  wonder. 

"You  measured  his  cheek  charmingly  —  I  mean 
d'Albignac's,"  said  the  fiddler.  "We  two  might  do 
great  things  together  yet.  Ay,  that  was  the  d'Albi- 
gnac. I  dare  say  you  have  heard  the  name,  in  Cassel. 
Chouan  once,  then  renegade,  now  Grand-Veneur 


Parting  of  the    Ways  51 

(and  Great  Pandar)  to  his  Majesty  of  Westphalia. 
Such  is  d'Albignac." 

"Majesty?  .  .  .  King  Jerome?" 

"Did  you  think,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  compas- 
sionately, "that  Meyer  and  Schmidt  were  usual 
names  for  Frenchmen?  Why,  the  precious  incog- 
nito would  not  have  deceived  a  cat." 

The  dawn  was  growing  softly  outside,  but  there 
was  sudden  vivid  light  in  Steven's  brain. 

"Then  —  then,"  he  stammered,  struggling  to 
his  feet  — "the  lady " 

"The  lady,  my  poor  young  friend,  is  naught  but 
a  dancing  girl  from  Genoa,  whom  that  wise  and 
powerful  man,  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  sent  two 
emissaries  to  remove  —  it  is  not  the  first  time  he 
has  had  to  attend  to  such  matters  —  from  her  charm- 
ing apartments  in  'Napoleonshohe,'  where  her 
presence  conduced  neither  to  the  King's  dignity, 
nor  to  the  Queen's.  The  great  Napoleon  is  mighty 
particular  about  her  Westphalian  Majesty's  dignity. 
Our  ardent  little  sovereign,  however,  determined  to 
snatch  a  last  meeting;  hence  the  romantic  attack 
and  rescue  —  the  casual  meeting !" 

"O  Lord!"  said  Steven,  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  mouth,  as  if  the  shadow  of  the  yearned- 
for  kiss  polluted  it. 


$2  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"And  so  that  Meyer  fellow  is " 

"  Our  brother  Jerome  —  yes." 

The  fiddler  lifted  a  sweet,  worn  voice,  while  his 
bow  danced  lightly  on  the  strings  and  chanted  to 
the  absurd  lilt  — 

"  Nous  aliens  chercher  un  royaume 
Pour  not'  p'tit  fr£re  Jdrome." 

"'Twas  the  song  of  the  soldiers  before  Jena,"  he 
explained.  " Pardi!  a  taking  ragamuffin  tune! 
When  our  friends  last  night  heard  it,  comrade, 
they  took  to  their  heels." 

And  as  Steven  stared  with  ever-increasing  won- 
der, Geiger-Hans  proceeded,  in  his  mocking  voice: 

"'The  wicked  flee  when  none  pursueth!'  If 
there  is  one  person  the  kinglet  here  is  afraid  of, 
'tis  of  the  great  Emperor.  Many  a  merry  prank 
have  I  played  on  King  Jerome's  nerves !  He  holds 
to  his  high  gilt  throne,  and  knows  that  the  mighty 
hand  that  placed  him  on  it  can  pick  him  off  it 
again.  Big  brother,  on  his  side,  knows  how  to 
punish  too,  when  little  brother  passes  the  bounds. 
And  the  small  man  thinks  the  big  man  has  spies 
on  him  at  every  corner.  He  has  his  own  way  of 
knowing  things,  has  Caesar  ...  if  not  the  ways 
yonder  gingerbread  monarch  fancies." 

"And  he  thought  you  were  the  Emperor's  spy?" 


Parting  of  the  Ways  53 

hazarded  Steven,  and  looked  with  some  doubt  at 
his  companion.  A  mystery  the  man  certainly  was ! 

"Many  things  have  I  been,  comrade,"  said  the 
fiddler,  answering  the  look,  "but  never  in  any  man's 
pay,  be  assured  of  that.  Nevertheless,  the  King- 
maker keeps  an  eye  on  his  puppets  from  the  midst 
of  victory  —  many  eyes  on  him,  indeed.  And 
Jerome  has  taken  into  his  head  that  your  humble 
servant  is  the  most  cunning  of  Napoleon's  eyes. 
The  mistake  is  amusing  enough,  and  I  make  it 
serve  my  own  use  at  times.  I  had  but  to  play  such 
a  simple  air,  you  see,  and  his  Majesty  of  Westphalia 

—  his  choice  circle "  He  made  a  wide  gesture 

and  a  sound  mimicking  a  flutter  of  wings:  "Phew! 
Gone,  scared  like  frightened  sparrows!" 

"Gone?"  echoed  Steven;  and  though  she  was 
but  a  dancing-girl  from  Genoa,  and  a  baggage  at 
that,  his  heart  sank. 

"Gone,"  said  the  fiddler  —  "gone  before  the 
dawn.  So  is  Sidonia !  Aha,  Sir  Count,  short 
skirts,  it  seems  to  you,  make  the  peasant,  and  fine 
jewels,  no  doubt,  the  great  lady !  Ha,  ha !  to  see 
your  lordship  draw  away  from  the  touch  of  her 
tresses!  She  brought  you  her  own  pillow  last 
night,  and  wept  over  you  and  thought  you  were 
dead  —  till  I  bid  her  put  her  hand  over  your  heart 


54  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

and  feel  its  solid  beating.  'Tis  a  noble  child  —  and 
a  greater  race  you  will  never  meet  in  your  travels. 
Why,  'tis  the  heiress  of  the  country.  Oh,  there 
were  no  lies  about  her !  The  girl  visits  her  foster- 
mother  for  a  holiday  and  a  treat  now  and  then. 
You  never  looked  at  her  foot  or  her  delicate  eye- 
brow: she  was  but  a  peasant  girl,  pardil  Jerome 
has  a  keener  eye " 

"Jerome!"  echoed  Steven,  and,  he  knew  not 
why,  the  fiercest  spasm  of  anger  he  had  yet  felt 
seized  him  then. 

"Jerome  pinched  her  chin,  as  you  saw,"  said  the 
fiddler,  "and,  therefore,  back  we  packed  her, 
Friedel  and  I,  to  her  own  castle,  for  safety.  .  .  . 
Meanwhile  you  slept.  Come,  come,  never  look  so 
downcast,"  he  went  on  with  sudden  change  of 
tone.  "Is  it  not  instructive  to  know  how  the  ruler 
of  Westphalia  passes  his  time  while  all  the  best  man- 
hood of  his  country  is  warring  for  the  Empire  — 
burnt  in  Spain,  frozen  in  Russia?  And,  at  any 
rate,  have  you  not  had  a  night  you  will  remember 
out  of  all  your  dull,  regulated  youth?  Come  forth 
and  I  will  show  you  something  I  warrant  me  you 
have  never  seen  before  —  sunrise  in  the  forest." 

The  yard  seemed  very  silent  and  empty.  They 
were  all  gone  —  gone  like  a  dream ! 


Parting  of  the    Ways  55 

"Come,"  said  the  musician,  "look  up.  Have 
you  ever  seen  so  limpid  a  blue  ?  Look  at  the  trees 
enveloped  in  mystery;  see  the  silver  shine  of  the 
dew  over  every  blade;  hark  to  it  as  it  drips  from 
leaf  to  leaf.  'Tis  every  day  a  new  creation !  Oh, 
I  could  make  you  Dawn-music,  if  there  were  not 
such  music  already  for  you  to  hear!  Hark  to  the 
whispering,  the  lisping,  the  murmurs!  Do  you 
mark  the  birds  —  that  is  your  last  night's  robin  at 
the  top  of  the  larch  tree;  he  is  singing  under  his 
breath  now,  watching  the  horizon;  he  will  pipe 
when  the  sun  leaps  up.  Do  you  hear  the  humming 
of  the  bees?  There  is  thyme  in  mother  Friedel's 
garden;  and  that  is  the  sharp  tinkle  of  the  brook 
over  the  stones.  Eh,  my  soul,  what  a  symphony ! 
The  breath  of  the  forest  —  do  you  feel  it  ?  —  cool 
and  living ;  the  savour  of  the  crushed,  dew-drenched 
moss  under  your  feet  —  do  you  taste  it  ?  And  the 
smell  of  the  beech  leaves  and  the  incense  of  the 
pines?  And  now  watch.  Behold  how  the  forest  is 
lit  up  as  with  some  inner  fire !  Dark  and  colour- 
less stand  the  trees  nearest  to  us.  Look  within,  how 
the  flame  grows,  how  it  spreads  —  live  gold,  live 
emerald  !  And  see  there  —  oh,  the  scarlet  on  those 
fir  trunks !  The  sun  has  risen !  .  .  ." 

The    fiddler    stopped    speaking.    Looking    back 


56  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

upon  it,  Steven  afterwards  wondered  if  he  had 
spoken  at  all,  or  had  only  made  his  thoughts  felt. 
But  here  his  strange  companion  came  to  a  stand- 
still in  their  slow  wandering  and  took  off  his  bat- 
tered old  hat  and  waved  it. 

"Farewell!"  said  he.  "Mother  Friedel  will  give 
you  breakfast,  and  son  Friedel  is  already  on  the 
look-out  for  your  lost  retinue.  Farewell,  noble 
Count  .  .  .  remember  to  be  young!" 

"Shall  I  never  meet  you  again?"  cried  Steven, 
suddenly.  His  heart  sank  unaccountably,  and  he 
added  with  hesitation:  "Comrade?" 

Geiger-Hans,  moving  away  into  the  forest  with 
light,  fantastic  step,  paused  and  smiled  mysteriously. 

"Who  knows?"  said  he,  over  his  shoulder.  "If 
you  know  how  to  seek  —  why  —  who  knows?" 

He  plunged  down  an  opening  in  the  trees,  where 
the  sun  made  a  golden  path  before  him  through 
the  yellowing  oak  trees;  and  the  larches  on  either 
side  were  on  fire  with  green  flame. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  INVITATION  OF  THE   ROAD 

"  A  vagrant's  morning  wide  and  bhie, 
In  early  fall,  -when  the  wind  walks,  too  ; 
A  lengthening  highway,  cool  and.  brown, 
Alluring  up  and  enticing  down.  .  .  ." 
BLISS  CARMAN. 

THERE  never  yet  had  been  question  of  a  maiden 
in  the  life  of  Steven  Lee,  up  to  this  September  day. 
With  his  Austrian  tradition,  Austrian  pride  of  race 
and  estate,  he  had  some  very  clear  notions  of  the 
noble  blood  and  the  territorial  importance  that 
would  have  to  be  hers  who  should  be  honoured 
some  day  as  the  choice  of  Waldorff-Kielmansegg. 

Yet  your  young  patrician,  as  a  rule,  is  not  chary 
of  granting  himself  that  interlude  of  amusement, 
dissipation  —  experience  of  life  before  marriage  — 
commonly  known  as  "  sowing  his  wild  oats."  It 
was,  perhaps,  because  of  his  English  education, 
hearty,  wholesome,  sporting;  by  reason  too,  no 
doubt,  of  the  English  deliberation  inherited  from  his 
mother,  joined  to  his  own  fastidious  self-sufficiency, 

57 


58  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

that  he  had  never  felt  the  want  of  a  woman's  share 
in  his  life.  The  pretty  chin  of  a  peasant  girl  had 
never  tempted  his  fingers.  Little  Sidonia  of  the 
forest  house,  had  she  been  ten  times  more  beauti- 
ful, had  never  needed  to  wield  her  plaits  as  flails 
to  beat  down  his  enterprise.  Had  not  the  fiddler's 
music  got  into  his  veins,  that  strange  night;  had 
not  the  insidious  white  wine  mounted  to  his  head, 
he  had  surely  never  succumbed  so  rapidly  to  the 
fascination  of  the  young  Italian.  Yet  her  chief  at- 
traction, in  his  eyes,  had  been,  not  the  parted, 
dewy  lips,  not  the  violet  gaze  of  her  eyes,  but  the 
false  attribution  to  her  of  birth  and  breeding,  born 
of  his  own  imagination.  The  moonlight  kiss  he 
had  suddenly  yearned  for  was  to  have  been  snatched 
from  a  great  lady  —  faugh !  not  from  a  ballerina! 
Here  had,  indeed,  been  a  lesson,  a  humiliation  — 
all  the  more  deep-felt  because  the  punishment 
seemed  disproportionate  to  the  single  lapse.  His 
mind  went  back  to  it  sullenly,  once  and  again. 
There  were  men,  he  knew,  to  whom  the  true  charac- 
ter of  the  fair  traveller  would  have  been  an  addi- 
tional allurement.  He  was  not  of  them. 

His  fastidiousness  revolted,  almost  as  a  woman's 
might,  no  less  from  the  thought  of  any  inferiority 
of  status,  than  from  the  knowledge  that  where  he 


The  Invitation  of  the  Road  59 

condescended  to  favour,  others  had  already  carried 
their  easy  victories. 

Yet,  although  the  image  of  the  dancer  lingered 
no  more  pleasantly  in  his  fancy  than  did  that  of 
the  little  patrician  —  disdainfully  unnoticed  in  her 
peasant  garb  —  that  night  of  adventure  in  the 
forest  had  left  a  deep  stamp  upon  the  young  man; 
but  the  chief  memory  for  him,  the  one  personality 
towards  which  his  thoughts  constantly  reverted, 
was  that  of  the  grey-haired  roadside  fiddler.  He 
had  met  a  king  yonder  night,  but  it  was  the  vagrant 
he  longed  to  see  again.  He  had  fought  for  his  life 
with  one  of  the  most  notorious  rufBers  in  Europe, 
but  the  scenes  he  re-lived,  with  the  fond  dalliance 
of  a  slow-thinking  youth,  was  the  meeting  on  the 
road  in  the  rosy  sunset  and  the  parting  in  the  green 
forest  dawn.  He  was  haunted  by  the  man's  smile, 
by  his  voice,  by  the  way  of  his  hands  —  above  all, 
his  music. 

The  taunting  music,  with  its  yearning,  its  sug- 
gestion, ever  alluring  and  ever  elusive,  played  to 
him  by  night  and  day.  It  seemed  as  if  he  should 
come  to  his  old  self  again,  could  he  but  encounter 
that  strange  companion  once  more  and  test  the 
emptiness  of  his  fascination,  the  folly  and  ab- 
surdity of  it !  At  least,  this  was  what  he  told  him- 


60  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

self,  to  excuse  his  own  inconceivable  action.  For 
here  was  he  actually  ranging  the  country,  in  search 
of  what?  A  sort  of  fiddling  vagabond.  A  fellow, 
moreover,  who  had  rated  his  nobility  at  such  insolent 
cheapness ;  had  slighted  him ;  had  mocked,  chided ; 
had  treated  him  as  no  one,  since  childhood,  had 
presumed  to  treat  the  important  young  nobleman. 

But  it  was  an  obsession:  idle  to  try  and  reason 
it  away.  No,  he  would  never  rest  till  his  desire  was 
accomplished. 

So  he  wandered  along  the  Thuringian  ways, 
making  stealthy  inquiries  here  and  there;  fruit- 
lessly, but  always  lured  on  from  village  to  village, 
round  and  about  the  great  forest  district,  where,  he 
was  credibly  informed,  the  fiddler  was  wont  to  roam 
about  this  time  of  year;  constantly  met  with  the 
tidings  that,  but  the  day  before,  but  last  night,  but 
two  hours  ago,  the  wanderer  had  been  seen  to  pass 
along  that  very  road.  The  gracious  gentleman 
would  surely  catch  him  on  the  highway  to  Helm- 
stadt;  at  the  farmhouse  of  Gronfeld,  where  he  al- 
ways lingered ;  at  the  fair  in  the  next  hamlet,  where 
he  was  absolutely  promised !  Sometimes  it  seemed 
as  if  the  very  trail  of  his  music  hung  in  the  air; 
there  was  something  fantastic  in  the  constant  pres- 
ence, always  escaping  him. 


The  Invitation  of  the  Road  6 1 

Steven,  fully  conscious  of  the  absurdity  of  the 
situation,  set  his  teeth  in  still  more  dogged  deter- 
mination, as  the  days  went  by.  And  the  pursuit, 
started  at  first  half  idly,  now  became  a  thing  of 
earnestness,  a  chase  almost  passionate. 

"I  told  Geiger-Hans  about  the  fine  young  noble- 
man that  was  always  looking  for  him,"  called  out  a 
sunburnt  girl  one  morning,  as  he  passed  for  the 
second  time  through  her  green-embowered  village. 

Steven  halted.  He  was  on  foot,  after  his  fashion, 
tired  with  his  fruitless  tramp,  out  of  temper. 

"That  was  very  kind  of  you,"  retorted  he,  sar- 
castically. "And  what  said  the  fellow?" 

The  girl's  teeth  flashed  in  her  tanned  face.  She 
poised  her  bucket  on  the  rim  of  the  well,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulder  archly. 

"Geiger-Hans  said  to  me,"  she  giggled:  "  'If 
one  wants  to  be  followed,  one  must  first  retire  — 
remember  that,  Madel,'  he  said.  He  said  that  to 
me,"  she  went  on,  "because  of  the  lad  I'm  after." 

Steven  turned  away  with  a  "pish!"  of  scorn  for 
such  low  dallying,  and  an  uneasy  sense  of  doubt 
that  the  fiddler's  avoidance  of  him  was  deliberate. 
As  he  swung  away  from  her,  the  girl  called  after 
him  good-naturedly: 

"If  the  gracious  gentleman  will  go  to  Wellens- 


62  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

hausen,  he  will  surely  find  Geiger-Hans  sooner  or 
later.  He  is  never  far  from  the  Burg,  this  time  of 
year." 

"Pah!"  thought  Steven,  "shall  I  waste  more 
time  in  running  down  this  beggar?  The  folk  here- 
abouts must  think  me  as  crazy  as  himself!  They 
are  all  in  league  to  make  me  tramp.  I  vow  this  is 
some  trick  of  the  vagabond.  I  think  I  see  myself 
squatting  at  a  wretched  village,  humbly  waiting 
Master  Fiddler's  pleasure." 

And  yet,  to  Wellenshausen,  he  next  day  found  his 
way. 

Thus  Steven  Lee,  Count  Waldorff-Kielmansegg, 
a  young  man  of  usually  epicurean  tastes,  chose  to 
linger  in  God-forsaken,  out-of-the-way  corners  of 
Westphalia,  this  September  in  the  year  of  wars, 
1813. 

In  the  eyes  of  his  valet  this  was  incomprehen- 
sible; seriously  annoying;  indeed,  a  matter  for 
much  head-shaking.  Instead  of  making  for  the  gay 
capital  of  King  Jerome  and  enjoying  himself  "like 
a  gentleman,"  he  hung  about  the  outskirts  of  the 
Thuringian  Forest  and  haunted  the  inns  of  half- 
deserted  townships,  of  poverty-stricken  villages  on 
the  high  imperial  road.  While  the  postilions  and 


The  Invitation  of  the  Road  63 

the  above-mentioned  valet  cursed  the  thin  wine  and 
the  gross  fare,  while  the  horses  of  the  travelling- 
chaise  fretted  the  hours  away  in  unworthy  stables, 
their  lord  and  master  took  solitary  rambles  on  foot, 
as  if  in  search  of  no  one  knew  what,  only  to  return, 
haughty  as  usual,  weary  and  discontented. 

When  a  halt  was  ordered  for  the  night  in  the 
hamlet  of  Wellenshausen,  instead  of  pushing  on  to 
the  decent  town  of  Halberstadt,  as  he  had  expected, 
valet  Franz  felt  the  situation  more  than  his  lively 
Viennese  spirit  could  endure  and  vowed  he  would 
resign.  He  tapped  his  forehead  significantly  as  his 
master  strolled  out  of  the  vine-grown  guest-house, 
looking  up  and  down  the  street  in  his  singular,  ex- 
pectant fashion. 

"There's  question  of  a  maiden,"  said  postilion 
Peter,  grimacing  over  his  mug,  "or  else  the  devil's 
in  it." 

Further  than  this  their  diagnosis  of  the  master's 
state  of  mind  could  not  go. 

***** 

Albeit  on  the  skirt  of  the  low  lands,  the  village  of 
Wellenshausen  was  yet  still  of  the  mountain.  It 
rode,  so  to  speak,  a  bold  buttress  of  the  distant 
wooded  range,  and  was  sheltered  to  the  north  by 
an  imposing  crag,  that  rose,  pinnacle-like,  so  de- 


64  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

tached  and  huge  that  it  would  have  seemed  inac- 
cessible but  for  the  testimony  of  the  castle  perched 
on  its  summit  —  the  far-famed  Burg  of  Wellens- 
hausen.  From  the  flank  of  this  mount,  a  torrent 
of  black  waters,  strangely  cold  at  all  times,  born  in 
some  mysterious  and  dreaded  cavern  of  the  rocks, 
rushed,  foaming  brown;  and,  on  its  way  to  the 
plain,  cut  the  village  in  two. 

Steven  Lee  gazed  upwards  at  the  old  Burg,  frown- 
ing of  aspect  at  most  times,  but  just  now,  as  it  caught 
on  its  narrow  windows  the  rays  of  a  sinking  sun, 
shining  rosily  upon  the  valleys.  His  fancy  was 
wafted  up  for  a  moment  to  the  height  on  a  wing  of 
airy  romance,  when  a  clamour  of  children's  voices 
turned  his  attention  in  a  new  direction.  A  string  of 
ragged  urchins  was  rushing  in  the  direction  of  the 
torrent.  Over  the  bridge  a  man's  figure  was  ap- 
proaching at  a  swinging  pace.  It  stopped  for  a 
moment  on  the  summit  of  the  rough  stone  arch; 
and  the  notes  of  a  fiddle,  in  lively  measure,  rose 
above  the  children's  shouts  and  the  roar  of  the  waters. 
Dancing,  singing,  leaping,  catching  at  his  coat- 
tails,  they  surrounded  the  musician  and  followed 
him.  He  advanced  like  the  magic  piper  of  the 
legend. 

Steven  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  way;    a 


The  Invitation  of  tJie  Road  65 

gleam  in  his  eye,  the  sunset  radiance  on  his  smiling 
face.  The  player  came  up  to  him  and  greeted  him 
with  a  bow,  his  fiddle  still  at  his  chin  the  while  he 
finished  his  stave. 

"Good  evening,  my  lord  Count.  We  have  met 
before,"  said  he.  His  tone  was  placidly  courteous, 
if  his  glance  mocked. 

"And  I  well-nigh  despaired  of  our  meeting  again," 
returned  the  young  man,  with  some  show  of  emo- 
tion. "Your  music  has  been  running  in  my  head 
—  implacably  —  all  these  days.  I  think  you  must 
have  bewitched  me!" 

There  was  a  note  almost  of  reproach  in  his  voice ; 
and  yet  he  blushed  as  he  spoke,  ashamed  of  his  own 
eagerness  in  such  a  quarter. 

"Why,"  said  the  other,  cruelly,  "I  fear  you're 
but  a  dull  lad.  Great  Apollo,  could  we  change 
places,  I  would  need  no  old  man's  company !  — 
Nay,  now,  children,  let  a  gentleman  speak  to  a 
gentleman."  He  paused  in  a  moment's  meditation, 
looked  through  the  inn  gateway,  then  glanced  up 
swiftly  at  the  distant  towering  strong  house.  "Is 
it  possible  your  lordship  has  chosen  this  barren 
village  for  a  stage?  I  see  your  attendants  supping 
—  right  sadly  —  in  the  arbour  yonder.  Will  you 
bid  me  to  supper  also,  comrade?" 


66  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

He  looped  his  threadbare  sleeve  into  Steven's  fine 
broadcloth.  The  urchins  shouted  with  laughter. 

The  young  aristocrat  frowned,  started ;  then,  with 
sudden  sweetness,  submitted,  and  presently  found 
himself  sitting  in  front  of  his  guest  in  the  darkening 
inn  room,  to  the  respectful  astonishment  of  mine 
host  of  "The  Three  Storks."  Had  the  grinding 
struggle  for  existence,  in  such  precarious  war  times, 
left  a  spark  of  imagination  in  the  few  plain  wits  with 
which  Nature  had  gifted  this  honest  man,  he  might 
have  found  something  beyond  mere  amazement  in 
the  contrast  between  his  two  patrons  —  something 
of  the  old  romance  of  which  the  German  roads  had 
once  been  full,  before  the  cruel  realities  of  foreign 
subjection,  the  flat  prose  of  poverty,  had  driven 
legend  and  fancy  from  the  land. 

The  fiddler's  attire  had  more  pretensions  to  neat- 
ness than  on  that  other  sunset  hour  when  Steven  had 
first  met  him,  bare-breasted  to  the  evening  airs  and 
powdered  with  the  dust  of  the  long  way.  His  gar- 
ments were  distinctive  enough,  for  all  their  poverty, 
and  set  of!  the  fine  line,  the  close  muscle,  of  a  figure 
lean  to  emaciation  yet  a  model  of  alert  strength. 
Breeches  of  home-spun  clung  to  thigh  and  knee; 
thick  knitted  hose  and  brass-buckled  shoes  of  coun- 
try make  could  not  conceal  the  elegance  of  leg  and 


The  Invitation  of  the  Road  67 

foot.  The  shirt-collar  carelessly  open,  the  abun- 
dant grey  hair,  quaintly  tied  up  in  the  cue  of  twenty 
years  bygone,  emphasized  a  symmetry  of  head  and 
throat  which,  in  a  higher  walk  of  life,  would  doubt- 
less have  been  termed  noble.  The  tan  of  the  clear- 
cut,  ascetic  face  was  singular  against  the  silver  of 
the  hair.  The  whole  personality  was  indeed  made 
of  anomalies :  —  the  wild  fire  of  the  eyes  under 
brows  melancholy  and  philosophic;  the  air  at  once 
of  recklessness  and  of  self-command,  of  indifference 
and  fierceness;  the  geniality  and  the  illimitable 
scorn;  the  weariness  of  all  things,  the  utter  worn 
distaste  which  was  written  in  every  line  of  his 
countenance  and  might  have  belonged  to  the  piti- 
less disillusion  of  old  age;  the  swift  energy  of  the 
delicate  impulsive  hands,  the  quick  turn  of  the  head 
and  the  flashing  glance  which  made  him  half  as 
young  again  at  times  than  that  middle-age  which 
yet  was  unmistakably  his.  Here  was  a  creature 
who  seemed  to  know  too  much  and  to  despise  every- 
thing; who  read  the  yet  unspoken  thought,  and  did 
not  hide  his  scorn  of  it ;  who  yet  drew  confidence  as 
a  woman  might,  and  could  lay  his  touch  on  the 
sources  of  tears  and  laughter.  If  angels  or  demons 
walked  in  human  guise,  this  Geiger-Hans  might 
have  passed  for  one  or  the  other,  according  to  the 


68  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

mood  of  his  company  or  according,  rather,  to  the 
candour  of  their  souls. 

Against  so  strange  a  being  the  personality  of  his 
young  entertainer  stood  clear  as  light  of  day.  No 
mystery  there  !  Four  words  could  sum  it  up :  pride, 
youth,  strength,  and  comeliness. 

The  innocence  of  his  youth  looked  out  through 
his  full  grey  eyes ;  the  pride  of  his  birth  sat  on  his 
eyebrow,  drooped  in  his  eyelid,  quivered  in  his  nos- 
trils ;  the  joy  of  his  untried  strength  smiled  uncon- 
sciously in  his  red  lips;  there  was  life  in  the  very 
wave  of  his  brown  hair.  The  healthy  pallor  of  the 
cheek  only  emphasized  how  generous  was  the  quick 
blood,  and  how  ingenuous  the  nature  that  sent  it 
rushing  with  every  passing  emotion.  Scarcely 
conscious  yet  of  the  value  of  the  power  he  wielded, 
the  young  man  nevertheless  gave  his  orders  in  care- 
less tones,  as  one  to  whom  wealth  had  always  been 
an  attribute  of  existence.  The  sober  richness  of 
his  garb,  the  sable  of  the  travelling  cloak  that  hung 
over  his  chair,  became  his  youthful  nobility.  And 
there  he  sat  and  pressed  the  vagrant  musician  to 
sour  wine  and  harsh  fare  with  the  airs  of  a  magnate 
at  his  own  luxurious  table. 

The  fiddler  was  unwontedly  silent.  He  had 
assumed,  in  his  sardonic  way,  an  attitude  of  ex- 


The  Invitation  of  tJte  Road  69 

ceeding  propriety.  He  addressed  mine  host  and  his 
unkempt  daughter  mincingly;  so  that,  between 
laughter,  wonder,  and  a  little  fear,  their  service 
became  complicated.  And  Steven,  feeling  himself 
subtly  mocked,  felt  the  scarlet  burn  in  his  cheeks, 
but  became  only  the  grander  and  the  more  high- 
born, because  of  his  own  embarrassment. 

Yet,  now  and  again,  the  musician's  gaze  would 
rest  upon  his  entertainer  not  unkindly.  Nay,  more, 
there  was  pleasure,  almost  caress,  in  the  look  with 
which  the  bright  eyes  would  sweep  from  Count 
Steven's  blushing  face  down  the  long  limbs  that  still 
held  the  grace  and  something  of  the  delicacy  of 
adolescence  in  spite  of  their  unmistakable  vigour. 

The  slattern  girl  put  a  dish  of  hard  green  pears 
between  the  two,  with  a  slam.  The  fiddler  raised 
melancholy  orbs  upon  Steven: 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  congratulate  you. 
The  bread  is  sour.  Sour  is  not  the  word  for  the 
wine.  It  is  scarcely  of  such  stuff  that  our  Ovid 
sang  in  his  'Art  of  Love'  — 

"  'Vina  parant  animos,  faciuntque  caloribus  aptos.' 

I  have  good  teeth,  but  truly  this  sausage  baffled 
them.  I  am  unappeased."  He  struck  his  lean 
middle.  "I  shall  have  no  spirit  to  play  another 


;o  "ff  Youth  but  Knew!" 

note  to-night.  (Keep  your  curses  for  better  uses, 
friend;  they  will  not  sweeten  the  cup.)  Now," 
said  he,  luxuriously  stretching  out  his  legs  and  gazing 
at  them  with  a  musing  air,  "I  could  have  done  with 
a  capon,  methinks,  and  a  beaker  of  ripe  old  Bur- 
gundy. What  say  you  ?  Have  you  supped  ?  Nay  ? 
Neither  have  I.  Come,  Sir  Count,  I  invite  your 
High  Seriousness  to  an  entertainment  where  nothing 
short  of  the  best  cellar  and  the  fairest  lady  of  the 
countryside  will  satisfy  us."  Then,  regarding 
Steven's  bewildered  face  for  a  while  in  silence,  he 
went  on  with  sudden  earnestness.  "The  highborn 
English  lady  and  the  estimable  Austrian  nobleman, 
who  are  jointly  responsible  (as  I  understand)  for 
your  existence,  have  spoilt  the  dish  for  want  of  a 
little  spice.  Heavens,  sir!  have  you  never  a  smile 
in  you,  never  a  spark  for  the  humorous  side  of 
things?  Why,  youth  should  itself  be  the  laughter 
of  life.  Come  with  me  —  you  have  much  to  learn." 

And  leaving  the  pears  further  unheeded,  he  took 
the  young  man  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to  the  door. 
The  village  was  now  steeped  in  grey  shadow,  but 
the  strong  house  on  the  height  still  glowed  like  a 
ruby.  Pointing  to  it: 

"I  brought  you  once,"  said  the  vagrant,  "into 
somewhat  low  company.  That  was  the  story  of 


Tlie  Invitation  of  the  Road  71 

our  first  meeting.  To-night,  if  you  will,  I  shall 
bring  you  into  high." 

"O  Jemine!"  exclaimed  the  landlord,  who  had 
been  hanging  open-mouthed,  ready  for  the  roar  at 
Geiger-Hans'  humour.  "Yonder,  where  the  Lord 
Burgrave  locks  up  his  lady?" 

"Even  so,"  said  the  hungry  fiddler,  imperturb- 
ably.  "And  you  must  lend  your  donkey  and  little 
Georgi,  and  see  that  this  gentleman's  valise  is  safely 
conveyed  upwards.  For  yonder  we  spend  the  night." 

Yonder,  where  the  sullen  lord  of  the  district  reigned 
in  traditional  terror,  even  in  absence;  where  (it 
was  whispered)  he  had  immured  a  six-months'  bride 
-jealous  as  any  Bluebeard.  Yonder  in  the  old 
Burg,  where  ancient  horrible  legends  of  fierce  dogs 
to  devour  unwelcome  guests,  of  bottomless  oubli- 
ettes, of  rayless  dungeons,  of  torture  chambers  (no 
doubt  based  on  truth  enough  in  bygone  centuries), 
still  lived  in  significance  with  tenants  and  vassals. 
Nay,  was  it  not  well  known  that  none  were  allowed 
ingress  or  egress  to  the  castle  but  the  Baroness  Si- 
donia,  the  Burgrave's  niece,  who  had  lived  all  her 
life  with  him  and,  being  of  his  own  blood,  and  little 
better  than  a  child,  could  not  be  said  to  count  ?  The 
innkeeper  looked  doubtfully  at  Geiger-Hans,  com- 
passionately at  his  guest.  Vague  memories  flitted 


72  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

through  his  mind  of  some  fantastic  tale,  heard  to 
the  murmurous  accompaniment  of  his  mother's 
spinning  wheel,  wherein  the  devil  met  ingenuous 
youths  on  their  wanderings  and  tempted  them  to  their 
doom. 

All  knew,  of  course,  that  the  musician  was  a  man 
of  humour;  still,  the  freak  seemed  beyond  a  joke. 
And  yet,  on  an  imperial  gesture,  the  host  of  "The 
Three  Storks"  withdrew  without  further  parley  to 
carry  out  the  crazy  vagrant's  order. 

"Don't  make  a  fool  of  me,"  whispered  Steven,  in 
his  singular  adviser's  ear. 

"Why,  it  is  the  wisdom  of  youth  to  be  foolish 
and  it  is  its  privilege  to  be  foolish  with  grace.  —  O, 
could  you  but  learn  that!"  interrupted  the  other, 
impatiently.  "No,  not  to-night,  dear  children,  but 
to-morrow  .  .  .  to-morrow  you  shalt  dance  your 
feet  off.  I  am  a  great  person  to-night:  I  am  sup- 
ping in  the  old  Burg." 

"Oh!"  said  the  children,  who  had  gathered  like 
sparrows  on  their  fiddler's  reappearance.  "Oh!" 
And  awestruck  they  scattered. 

"That  Geiger-Hans  ...  !"  said  the  landlord, 
as  by-and-by  he  watched  his  guests  depart.  "He 
bewitches  all,  great  and  small.  But  this  is  a  strong 
one.  .  .  .  There  they  go.  Maybe  they'll  never 


The  Invitation  of  the  Road 


73 


come  back!"  He  had  to  the  utmost  the  village 
terror  of  the  menace  of  the  Burg,  inherited  through 
centuries  of  high  and  low  justice  dispensed  by  Bur- 
graves  of  Wellenshausen.  "Dungeons,  up  there, 
and  trapdoors,  and  none  ever  the  wiser.  Hen 
Jeminel" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  BURG 

"  /  will  be  master  of  what  is  my  own  ; 
She  is  my  goods,  my  chattels,  she  is  my  house  ; 
And  here  she  stands,  touch  her  whoever  dare  !  " 
{Taming  of  the  Shrew). 

"SiDONiA,"  said  the  lady  up  in  the  turret-room, 
"I  will  not  endure  it!" 

As  this  remark  was  made  at  least  five  times  a  day, 
the  hearer  was  less  impressed  than  the  desperate 
air  of  the  speaker  demanded. 

"I  will  throw  myself  from  the  window,"  continued 
the  Burgravine,  carefully  propping  her  plump 
elbows  on  the  stone  sill  to  gaze  down  with  safety. 

"If  you'd  only  come  out  sometimes,  and  walk 
with  me!"  said  little  Sidonia,  smiling. 

"Walk,  child?  Your  uncle  knew  well  what  he 
was  doing  when  he  stuck  me  up  on  this  diabolic 
crag.  I  have  not  a  pair  of  shoes  that  would  last 
me  half-way  down.  And  merely  to  look  at  the  road 
that  leads  to  this  place!  Oh!"  —she  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  hand  and  shuddered  — -  "it  makes  me 
reel  with  giddiness!" 

74 


The  Burg  75 

"It  was  very  lovely  in  the  forest,"  said  Sidonia. 
"The  wild  raspberries  are  nearly  ripe,  and " 

"Raspberries!  Alas!  is  that  what  you  ought 
to  think  of  at  your  age  ?  You,  too  —  'tis  monstrous 
cruelty ! " 

"The  fawns  are  growing  and  are  so  sweet " 

"Fawns!  Fawns?  'Tis  a  lover  should  be  sweet 
to  you.  As  for  me  —  oh  woe !" 

Sidonia,  slight,  slim,  and  sun-kissed  as  a  young 
woodland  thing  herself,  grew  crimson  behind  her 
aunt's  dejected  head. 

"Why  —  why,  then,  does  Uncle  Ludovic  keep 
us  here?"  she  queried. 

Uncle  Ludovic's  lady  flounced  round  in  her 
chair,  her  eyes  darting  flames,  a  flood  of  words 
rising  to  her  cherry  lips  — 

"Why?  Because,  my  love,  the  creature  is  a 
Barbe-Bleue.  And  to  be  a  Bluebeard,  child,  means 
that  if  a  wretched  woman  has  been  fool  enough  to 
trust  you,  you  think  you  have  a  right  to  chop  her 
head  off  if  she  disobeys ;  and  meanwhile  to  shut  her 
up  to  prevent  her  having  so  much  as  a  chance." 

"I  wonder  why  you  married  Uncle  Ludo?" 
mused  the  girl.  Her  eyes  were  dreaming,  across 
the  fair  plain-land,  into  the  distance.  To  give  your 
life  to  some  one  quite  old  and  quite  stout,  with  a 


76  "If  Yoittk  but  Knew!" 

grizzled  double  chin  and  veins  that  swell  on  a  red 
forehead  (ran  the  fleeting  thought),  when,  about  the 
ways  of  the  forest,  a  young  knight  might  be  met 
wandering  ...  a  knight  with  hair  that  crisped 
back  from  forehead  of  ivory,  with  eyes  that  were 
scornful  and  full  of  fire ! 

"Why  did  I  marry  him?"  returned  the  Bur- 
gravine,  sharply.  "Ah,  he  was  very  different  then, 
my  dear !  The  monster !  how  he  deceived  me ! 
Do  you  think  I  should  ever  have  consented  if  I  had 
not  known  that  he  was  King  Jerome's  minister; 
if  he  had  not  promised  me  that  we  should  live  at 
Cassel;  if  I  had  not  been  told  that  one  was  more 
gay  at  Cassel  now  than  at  Paris  itself?  And  hon- 
ourably I  was  served,  was  I  not?  Ten  days  at 
Cassel,  while  there  was  scarce  a  cat  stirring,  the 
King  called  away  by  the  Emperor,  then  snatched 
off  to  this  place,  this  bald,  hateful  eagle's  crag,  at 
the  first  hint  of  any  gaiety.  Men  talk  of  their  hon- 
our, my  love  —  a  big  word  behind  which  they  can 
play  any  trick  upon  us  poor  women  their  humour 
may  prompt."  Her  voice  broke  shrilly.  Then  she 
added,  with  sudden  calmness:  "And  if  I  had  had  a 
silver  groschen  to  my  name,  you  may  imagine  'tis 
not  old  Wellenshausen's  second  wife  that  I  should 
be  —  but  some  fine  young  man's  first  one.  Sidonia, 


The  Bttrg  77 

how  unfair  is  fate!"  She  looked  enviously  at  the 
girl.  "There  are  you,  with  all  your  money,  who  will 
never  have  a  suitable  notion  of  what  to  do  with  it, 

while  I  —  I "     She  snapped  two  taper  fingers 

together  sharply  and  twisted  a  dear  little  plump 
shoulder  well-nigh  free  of  the  fashionable  Viennese 
robe,  which  looked  so  oddly  out  of  place  in  the 
mediaeval  severity  of  the  tower  room. 

There  was  silence,  while  Sidonia  reflected.  The 
Burgravine  had  a  way  of  opening  strange  perspec- 
tives before  the  young  mind  that  had  hitherto  known 
but  the  simplest  and  straightest  outlook  on  life. 
Wonderful  customs  had  the  new  mistress  brought  to 
the  old  Burg  —  odd  fads  of  fashion,  new  hours  of 
meals,  new  liveries  and  unknown  demands  on  the 
servants'  attention.  A  prisoner,  she  assumed  su- 
preme authority  within  the  limits  of  her  prison.  It 
sometimes  seemed  as  if  the  very  stones  in  the  old 
wall  were  echoing  surprise.  Sidonia,  who  had  run 
wild  within  them,  near  seventeen  years  of  happy 
unexacting  childhood,  found  herself  frequently  mar- 
velling at  a  code  of  morality  so  startling  in  its  novelty 
as  to  range  beyond  her  judgment.  She  felt  that  she 
could  as  little  fit  herself  to  this  new  aunt's  view  of 
existence,  as  her  modest  country  limbs  to  one  of  those 
outrageous  garments  of  Viennese  mode,  over  which 


;8  "//   Youth  but  Knew!" 

the  Burgravine  could  sigh  a  whole  morning  through 
in  rapture  and  regret  —  lamenting,  with  the  Soluble 
aid  of  Mademoiselle  Eliza,  her  French  maid,  the 
opportunities  lost  in  this  God-forsaken  corner  of 
the  world. 

"And  pray,"  said  Bluebeard's  wife,  after  a  pause 
(never  a  very  long  one  with  her,  for,  if  Sidonia  had 
the  gift  of  silence  which  belongs  to  all  creatures  who 
have  lived  much  with  nature,  her  Aunt  Betty  pos- 
sessed it  not  at  all),  "and  pray,  how  many  days  is  it 
since  your  uncle  took  the  road  for  Cassel,  a-bursting 
with  hypocritical  sighs  of  farewell?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sidonia,  starting  from  her 
dream.  "Ten  days?" 

"Ten  days!"  The  words  were  echoed  in  a  high 
pitch  of  indignation. 

"Three  weeks,  then,"  amended  the  girl,  hastily. 
"I  really  don't  know;  time  goes  so  fast." 

"Time  goes  so  fast!  Oh,  you  —  you  ...  !" 
Cherry  lips  of  scorn  babbled  vainly  in  search  of 
fitting  epithet.  "You  —  you're  his  own  niece!" 

Yet  as  life  would  have  been  distinctly  duller  were 
she  to  quarrel  outright  with  Sidonia,  the  Burgravine 
quickly  turned  the  batteries  of  her  wrath  to  the  old 
direction. 

"Little  did  I  think  on  that  day,  when  my  father, 


The  Burg  79 

away  in  our  dear  Austrian  home,  bade  me  hasten 
to  the  great  salon  and  pour  out  coffee  for  the  gentle- 
man from  Hanover  who  had  come  to  buy  our  horses 
—  little  did  I  think  what  lay  in  store  for  me !  '  You 
must  smile  on  him,  child,'  said  my  mother;  'he  is 
an  old  nobleman,  very  rich ;  and  if  your  father  sells 
well,  it  may  mean  a  month  in  Vienna  for  you  ! '  Ach, 
heavens!"  said  the  Burgravine,  "think  of  me,  my 
Sidonia,  smiling,  in  my  innocence,  on  him  —  on  him  ! 
And  who  was  bought  and  sold  ?  It  was  poor  Betty  ! " 

"I  think  it  is  very  wrong  of  Uncle  Ludo,"  asserted 
Sidonia,  severely,  a  flush  rising  to  her  sunburnt 
cheek.  "Why,  since  he  has  married  you,  will  he 
not  trust  you?" 

"Why?  Because,  having  spent  most  of  his  life 
studying  our  sex,  the  man  now  flatters  himself  upon 
a  wide  experience  of  our  frailties.  Because,  having 
so  often  proved  how  easy  it  is  to  break  the  marriage 
vow,  he  can  put  no  confidence  in  another's  keeping 
it.  Because,"  and  her  bosom  heaved  with  indigna- 
tion, "  Cassel  is  the  most  amusing  spot  at  this  moment 
in  the  whole  of  Europe  —  they  say  it  is  gayer  than 
Paris  itself  —  and  no  husband  who  respects  himself 
can  take  his  pleasure  with  any  comfort,  if  he  does  not 
feel  that  his  wife  is  correspondingly  bored." 

"But  uncle  has  his  Chancellor's  duty,"  resumed 


8o  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

Sidonia,  after  pondering  upon  these  enlightening 
remarks. 

"Chancellor's  duties!"  The  lady  drummed  on 
the  diamond  panes.  "Oh,  yes,  my  love,  King 
Jerome  requires  onerous  duties  of  his  ministers, 
and  I've  no  doubt  that  Ludovic  performs  his  con 
amore. — How  soon  will  you  be  eighteen?"  she 
cried  suddenly. 

"In  four  months,"  said  Sidonia. 

"Four  months  —  an  eternity!  Alas,  my  love, 
long  before  that  I  shall  have  been  laid  in  that  hateful 
chapel  of  yours ;  in  that  very  vault,  no  doubt,  where 
lies  my  predecessor  —  that  fool  of  a  woman  who 
resisted  such  a  life  as  this  for  twenty  years,  and  yet 
had  the  inconceivable  want  of  tact  to  die  at  the  very 
moment  when  I  was  ripe  to  fall  a  prey  to  the  mon- 
ster." 

"Poor  Aunt  Hedwige!"  said  Sidonia,  reflectively; 
"she  was  very  fat  and  never  unkind,  and  I  don't 
think  she  was  unhappy." 

"Ha!"  muttered  the  Burgravine,  vindictively, 
"I'll  warrant  he  might  have  brought  her  to  Cassel 
with  impunity." 

"He  didn't,  though,"  said  Sidonia. 

"No,  child,"  pursued  the  other,  with  much  ran- 
cour, "woman's  place  is  at  home,  you  see,  while  the 


The  Burg  81 

man  is  abroad  —  aha!"  She  set  her  teeth  and 
growled  behind  them  like  an  angry  Persian  kitten. 
Then  she  snapped  at  her  niece:  "And  you  haven't 
even  the  intelligence  to  be  eighteen  yet,  and  be  of 
some  use  for  once  in  your  life !  Yes,  never  look  so 
astonished ;  you're  not  a  fool,  child ;  you  know  that 
when  you  are  eighteen,  you  will  be  free,  and  the 
richest  woman  in  Thuringia  —  owner  of  half  the 
wretched  little  province ;  free,  girl,  free  to  do  as  you 
like,  to  live  where  you  like,  to  have  your  own  estab- 
lishment, to  spend  your  own  money  —  and  then 
there'd  be  a  chance  for  me  !  Ah,  but  you  would  not 
give  it  to  me.  You  would  let  dear  uncle  manage  as 
he's  always  managed,  and  dole  you  out  a  thaler  here 
and  a  louis  there,  and  let  him  choose  you  a  nice 
husband  .  .  .  who  would  not  look  too  much  into 
the  accounts,  I'll  warrant." 

"Aunt  Betty!"  panted  Sidonia.  The  Burgravine 
stopped,  slightly  abashed  by  the  fire  that  flashed  in 
the  child's  glance.  "If  you  can't  forgive  Uncle 
Ludo  for  being  your  husband,  don't  forget  that  he 
is  a  man  of  honour.  ..." 

"Oh,  patatata!"  said  the  lady,  with  a  shrug, 
"here's  mighty  fine  talk !  Manage  your  own  affairs, 
my  dear.  I'll  say  no  more." 

She  leaned  her  plump  arms  on  the  window-sill 


82  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

again  and  turned  her  back  on  her  niece  with  an  air 
of  determined  sullenness. 

Sidonia  was  very  angry.  She  sat  down  on  the 
high-backed  chair  and  set  the  ancient  spinning 
wheel  whirring  with  a  hand  that  trembled. 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  she  resumed  in  a  choked 
voice,  "if  I  ever  do  marry,  Aunt  Betty,  I  shall  choose 
my  own  husband." 

"Of  course,  among  the  crowds  that  besiege  the 
gay  Burg  of  Wellenshausen,  up  in  the  clouds,  my 
sweet  creature,"  said  the  Burgravine,  without  turn- 
ing her  head,  "you  will  have  only  V embarras  du  choix 

and  then But  here  she  interrupted  herself 

with  a  sharp  ejaculation.  Her  fingers  ceased  their 
angry  tune.  She  swung  back  the  window  a  trifle 
wider  and  leaned  out  further  than  she  had  ventured 
upon  her  threat  of  suicide.  "Look,  look !"  she  cried 
in  altered  tones.  "Do  you  see?  There  are  two 
men  coming  up  the  road  with  a  pack-horse.  No, 
'tis  a  donkey !" 

Sidonia  sprang  up  and  leaned  out  eagerly  across 
her  aunt's  shoulder.  They  were  but  a  pair  of 
children  of  different  ages,  when  all  was  said  and  done. 

"It  can  only  be  the  miller's  boy  and  the  gardener 
...  or  the  shepherd,"  opined  she. 

"Oh,  yes,  the  very  outline  of  humpback  John  and 


Look,  look,  ,/o  you  see  ?  .  .  .      There  are  two  men  coming  up  the  road 
with  a  pack-horse.     No,  'tis  a  donkey .  " 


The  Burg  83 

the  swing  of  bandy  Peperl!"  (This  was  sarcastic.) 
"To  the  hangman  with  these  evening  mists !  Now, 
now,  see !  a  gentleman,  or  I'm  a  goose-girl  ...  a 
young  man,  or  I'm  a  grandmother!  Poor  things, 
how  they  toil !" 

"Why,  'tis  Geiger-Hans!"  exclaimed  the  lady's 
niece,  in  amazement.  But  it  was  not,  surely,  the 
sight  of  Geiger-Hans  which  brought  such  crimson 
to  her  cheek. 

"And  who  may  Geiger-Hans  be?"  cried  the  Bur- 
gravine. 

"My  dear  friend,  everybody's  friend,  Geiger- 
Hans  the  roadside  player,"  said  the  girl.  "Why, 
you  have  heard  me  speak  of  him  many  a  time.  If 
he  were  young  and  wore  a  plume  and  a  dagger, 
people  would  call  him  a  minnesinger.  And  his 
music  —  ah!  it  moves  the  heart  like " 

"Why,  the  creature's  a  beggar,  child!"  inter- 
rupted the  lady,  peering  down.  "  But  the  other " 

She  drew  back  from  the  window  in  great  fluster. 
"It's  quite  clear  that  you  and  I  have  company  at 
last.  Oh,  for  once  I  will  be  mistress  here !  They 
shall  be  admitted,  maugre  my  ogre !  Call  Eliza ! 
Get  you  into  a  decent  gown,  for  Heaven's  sake ! 
My  rose  taffeta  —  it  shall  be  my  rose  taffeta.  And 
you?  —  Wear  anything  but  white  at  your  peril!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

GUESTS   OF   CHANCE 

" '  Twould  be  a  ivildish  destiny 
If  we,  -who  thus  together  roam 
In  a  strange  land  and  far  from  home, 
Were  in  this  place  the  Guests  of  Chance ! 
Yet  who  would  stop  or  fear  to  advance  ...   ?" 
WORDSWORTH. 

"THE  Lord  Burgrave  is  not  at  the  castle.    The 

gracious  Lady  Burgravine  never  receives  visitors." 

-Thus  Martin  the  gatekeeper,  thrusting  his  ugly 

head  out  of  the  vasistas  of  the  great  nail-studded 

door. 

The  last  of  the  sunlight  had  faded.  Grey  and 
sheer  rose  the  Burg  walls  and  turrets  above  the 
visitors'  heads;  sheer  and  grey  fell  the  mountain- 
side away  at  their  feet. 

"Mark  now,  comrade,  for  here  are  we  back  in 
the  Middle  Ages,"  whispered  Geiger-Hans  to  his 
companion.  Aloud  he  cried  to  the  porter,  who  was 
slowly  withdrawing  his  countenance:  "Half  a 
minute,  friend,  and  let  us  examine  your  statement. 


Guests  of  Chance  85 

That  the  Lord  Burgrave  is  away,  I  am  aware;  but 
that  your  lady  does  not  receive  has  still  to  be  proved. 
How  if  we  two  come  upon  the  invitation  of  His 
Excellency  himself?  Consider  me  that." 

Through  the  gathering  gloom  Steven  peered  at 
the  musician's  mocking  features.  Martin  the  door- 
ward  stared  in  silence  for  a  moment;  then,  with  a 
great  groaning  of  bars  and  grinding  of  keys,  set  the 
heavy  door  ajar  —  not  to  admit  them,  indeed,  but 
that  he  might  stare  the  closer. 

"Martin,"  pursued  the  fiddler,  gravely,  "your 
name  had  better  have  been  Thomas :  you  were  born 
an  unbeliever." 

"My  orders  are,"  said  Martin,  in  surly  tones, 
"to  admit  no  one." 

"Fellow,"  said  the  fiddler,  "a  servant's  orders, 
I  take  it,  are  not  like  the  Ten  Commandments,  but 
subject  to  variations  according  to  another's  pleasure. 
What  if  I  tell  you  that,  knowing  your  master " 

"You?  Know  my  master!"  The  doorward's 
teeth  showed  like  an  old  dog's  in  a  grin,  half  scorn, 
half  doubt. 

"Aye,  we  have  but  recently  parted.  By  the  same 
token,  friend,  he  is  now  at  Halberstadt  and  may  be 
here  to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  as  it  is  damp  and 
night  falls,  admit  us  to  your  stone  hall  and  let  us 


86  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

sit,  for  you  will  be  wise  to  gaze  at  us  a  while  longer 
before  you  take  upon  yourself  to  drive  off  the  lord 
Burgrave's  friend  and  the  lady  Burgravine's  kins- 
man from  doors  to  which  they  have  been  invited. 
Look  at  that  gentleman.  There  is  a  gentleman  for 
you,  from  the  crown  of  his  n'oble  head  to  the  sole  of 
his  high-born  foot !  And  look  at  me !  Ah,  you 
know  me !  Geiger-Hans,  am  I  not  ?  Beware, 
Martin,  great  people  have  their  disguises." 

Martin  showed  signs  of  agitation  and  yielding. 
Geiger-Hans,  keeping  him  under  the  raillery  of  his 
glance,  pursued  his  argumentative  advantage: 

"Now,  cease  scratching  that  grey  stubble,  and  I 
will  tell  thee  what  to  do  to  save  thee  from  a  false 
step.  Go  thou  to  the  gracious  lady,  and  ask  her 
if  her  lord  has  not  advised  her  of  the  probable  visit 
of  two  travellers,  and  request  of  her  whether  (these 
two  gentlemen  having  presented  themselves)  it  is  not 
her  wish,  in  obedience  to  her  lord,  that  they  should 
be  admitted.  Meanwhile,  we  shall  sit  on  this  bench, 
and  I  shall  beguile  my  noble  companion's  weariness 
with  a  little  air  of  music." 

The  porter  withdrew  slowly,  without  another 
word,  but  not  without  casting  backward  glances  of 
doubt  upon  the  new-comers. 

"How  do  you  dare?"  asked  Steven,  fixing  almost 


Guests  of  Chance  87 

awestruck  eyes  upon  Geiger-Hans,  who,  nursing 
his  instrument  upon  one  knee,  was  coolly  winding 
up  the  strings. 

"Dare,  I  ?"  He  twanged  the  cord,  shook  his  head, 
and  fell  to  screwing  again.  "Why  should  I  not  dare  ? 
What  have  I  to  fear  ?  What  have  I  to  lose  ?  We  are 
sure  of  a  welcome,  I  tell  you  —  of  a  supper,  and  of  a 
good  joke." 

"Your  magnificent  audacity!"  said  Steven,  sit- 
ting gingerly  down  at  the  end  of  the  bench,  and  look- 
ing at  the  other's  lean  figure  as  if  it  had  been  that  of 
the  Prince  of  Lies  himself.  "Positively,  I  myself 
could  hardly  believe  you  were  not  speaking  the 
truth." 

"And  so  I  was,"  said  the  other,  composedly. 
"Not  one  word  but  was  solemn  verity." 

"Oh,  but  stay!  How  come  I  to  be  kinsman  to 
the  Burgravine?" 

"You  are  Austrian,"  quoth  the  musician.  "So 
is  she,  as  I  happen  to  know.  Both  the  finest  flower 
of  the  Empire's  aristocracy.  If  you're  not  related 
somewhere  .  .  .  I'll  eat  my  fiddle." 

"Upon  my  word!"  ejaculated  Steven,  opening 
his  eyes  very  wide.  "I  suppose  it  is  on  the  same 
kind  of  plea  that  you  have  your  acquaintance  with 
the  Burgrave.  An  intimate  acquaintance?" 


88  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Intimate.  I  have  said  so.  The  Burgrave  of 
Wellenshausen  is  a  type  that  is  true  to  itself." 

"And  he  has  invited  us  to  visit  the  Burg?" 
Steven's  tones  broke  into  mirth. 

"Indubitably."  The  player  raised  his  fiddle  and 
drew  a  long  note  from  it  that  was  a  musical  mockery 
of  the  young  man's  high  key.  "The  husband  who 
locks  up  a  light-hearted  wife  alone  in  a  solitary 
tower  invites  in  terms  most  positive  every  gentleman 
of  heart  and  spirit  in  the  country  to  come  and  console 
her.  M.  de  Wellenshausen  is  at  Halberstadt,  on 
the  King's  business  —  I  was  playing  at  the  Crown 
Hotel.  He  will  be  here  to-morrow.  And  he  said 
to  me:  'Friend'  —  mark  you,  friend  (the  Burgrave 
had  dined  satisfactorily;  the  wine  is  excellent  at 
the  Crown),  'you  must  come  and  play  that  tune  at 
my  castle.'  He's  fond  of  music,  you -see.  'Twas  a 
promise.  And  the  only  person  who  will  lie  in  the 
whole  matter  to-day  is  the  noble  lady  Burgravine. 
She  is  dying  by  inches  of  ennui,  and  she  will  —  be 
quite  certain  of  it !  —  she  will  assure  the  porter  that 
our  visit  has  indeed  been  announced  to  her.  'Tis  to 
be  regretted,  but  such  is  the  way  of  women  who  eat 
their  hearts  away  in  lonely  strong  houses." 

He  caught  his  fiddle  to  his  breast :  liquid  melody 
flowed  out  into  the  empty  hall,  and  went  echoing 


Guests  of  Cfiance  89 

down  long  passages  and  up  into  vaulted  roofs.  Like 
rabbits  from  a  warren,  now  a  scullion  popped  a 
head  out  of  some  dark  corner,  now  a  rosy  wench 
half  opened  a  side  door  and  peeped,  smiling.  There 
awoke  all  about  the  sleepy  castle  a  sound  of  skirmish- 
ing and  tittering;  now  a  patter  of  bare  feet;  now 
the  tramp  of  boots  that  no  precautions  could  hush. 
At  length  the  majestic  form  of  the  major-domo 
himself  appeared  before  the  vagrants,  magnificent 
in  his  silver  chain  and  silk  stockings  and  buckle 
shoes.  Geiger-Hans  hushed  his  music  and  leaned 
over  to  Steven  to  whisper  in  his  ear : 

"See,  he  has  been  putting  on  his  grand  garb  of 
ceremony  to  deliver  his  lady's  little  lie." 

"The  high-born,  my  mistress,  had  not  expected 
you  before  to-morrow,"  said  the  butler,  with  a  deep 
bow  to  Steven.  He  cast  a  fish-like  eye  of  astonish- 
ment upon  the  fiddler,  but,  nevertheless,  pursued: 
"Will  your  honour  follow  me  to  your  apartment?" 
Again  he  stared  at  the  musician,  who  nimbly  rose  and 
bowed. 

"  My  honour  will  also  follow,"  he  said  blandly. 
"Our  valise  is  on  the  donkey's  back,  at  the  door; 
see  to  it,  my  man." 

If  Geiger-Hans  were  surprised  at  his  own  success, 


90  "If  Youth  but  Knew !  " 

it  was  only  the  humorous  twitch  of  his  eyebrows 
that  betrayed  the  fact.  He  was  of  those,  apparently, 
whose  talent  for  seizing  opportunities  generally 
evoke  the  belief  that  they  have  created  them. 

"Comrades  should  share  and  share  alike,"  said 
he  presently,  laying  down  Steven's  brush,  which  he 
had  been  wielding  dexterously  on  his  own  locks  — 
"lend  me  a  black  ribbon  for  my  queue  —  it  is  out 
of  mode,  but  I  am  of  the  old  stock.  I  have  been 
shaved  a  velours  to-day  -  - '  twas  an  inspiration !  A 
cloud  of  powder  would  complete  me,  but  you  new- 
century  bucks  know  not  of  these  refinements.  Nay, 
but  here  is  a  pot  of  the  finest  Parma,  as  I  live  !  For 
the  chin  and  cheek  of  milord  after  the  razor,  no  doubt  ? 
Now  shall  you  see  how  it  became  the  countenance 
of  a  better-looking  generation.  —  I  think  that  black 
suit  of  yours  so  neatly  folded  in  the  corner  of  our 
valise  is,  perhaps,  what  would  best  grace  my  gravity. 
Yes.  And  a  ruffle  shirt.  .  .  .  Thank  you.  Ah ! 
.  .  .  And  those  violet  silk  stockings." 

Steven  stood  hypnotized. 

"Your  eyes  will  positively  drop  out,"  said  the 
fiddler,  "if  you  stare  any  more."  He  drew  a  snuff- 
box from  his  discarded  coat,  and  tapped  it  with  his 
finger.  "A  pinch  is  but  a  poor  thing,  if  a  man  has 
not  a  frill  to  his  wrist,"  he  said.  And  he  was  ap- 


"7 'he  high-born,  my  mistress,  had  not  expected  you  before  to-morrow, 
said  the  Intfler,  with  a  deep  bow  to  Steven. 


Guests  of  Chance  91 

parently  not  ill-pleased  to  see  how  Steven  marvelled 
at  the  grace  with  which  he  swung  his  borrowed  laces, 
the  air  with  which  he  flipped  an  invisible  atom  from 
his  cuff.  He  took  a  step,  as  though  his  legs  had  never 
known  but  silk.  Steven's  suit,  if  a  little  large,  hung 
on  his  figure  with  a  notable  fitness. 

"As  I  live!"  cried  Count Waldorff-Kielmansegg, 
with  a  loud  laugh  of  discovery,  "a  gentleman, 
after  all!" 

Geiger-Hans  drew  his  black  brows  together  with 
his  swift  frown. 

"  Your  equal,  you  mean,  doubtless  ?  "  said  he,  dryly. 
"You  do  me  too  great  honour."  Then  his  eyes 
softened  again,  as  in  his  turn  he  surveyed  his  com- 
panion. "Come,"  said  he,  "I  would  give  all  my 
superior  years  for  some  of  your  youthful  disabilities. 
I  cherish  no  illusions  as  to  which  of  us  the  fair  Bur- 
gravine  will  deem  the  better  worth  her  notice." 

And,  indeed,  when  the  two  were  ushered  into  the 
long,  dim,  tapestry-hung  saloon,  the  bright  eyes  of 
the  lady  of  the  castle  merely  swept  Geiger-Hans, 
amazingly  distinguished  as  he  was  in  his  borrowed 
plumes,  to  rest  with  complacency  on  the  youth  who 
followed  him. 

Steven  held  his  head  high,  after  the  fashion  of  your 
shy,  self-conscious  fellow.  But  his  head  being  one 


92  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

upon  which  Nature  had  set  a  noble  stamp,  this  be- 
came it  well.  If  there  was  pride  in  the  arch  of  his 
eyebrow  and  the  curl  of  his  lip,  there  was,  likewise, 
race  to  justify  it.  Betty,  the  Burgravine,  could  note 
as  much  between  two  flickers  of  her  long  eyelashes ; 
note,  too,  that  (thank  goodness !)  he  wore  none  of 
those  new,  odious  Cossack  trousers,  but  kept  to  the 
fashion  which  made  it  worth  while  for  a  man  to  have 
a  good  line  to  his  limb ;  note,  furthermore,  that  plum- 
colour  frac,  maize  waistcoat,  and  dove-grey  kersey- 
meres make  excellent  harmony  with  rose  taffeta. 
The  lady  had  been  created  for  courts,  and  even  now, 
perched  like  a  humming  bird  in  the  eyrie  of  a  moun- 
tain eagle,  moved  in  a  gay,  trifling  atmosphere  of 
her  own.  And,  as  he  returned  her  gaze,  Count 
Steven,  who  had  also  been  constructed  for  the  high 
places  of  life,  felt  that  he  was  in  his  element  once 
more. 

"The  —  the  gentlemen!"  announced  Niklaus, 
with  a  nervous  giggle.  He  knew  Geiger-Hans  — 
as  who  did  not  that  belonged  to  the  country-side? 
But  familiarity  had  not  so  far  bred  contempt,  and 
neither  he  nor  his  compeers  would  have  ventured  to 
question  anything  the  mysterious  being  chose  to  do. 
Had  the  fiddler  desired  himself  to  be  announced  as 
the  Archangel  Michael,  or  Prince  Lucifer,  or  the 


Guests  of  Quince  93 

Emperor  Napoleon,  or  the  Wandering  Jew,  Nik- 
laus  would  scarcely  have  been  surprised. 

The  rose-red  lady  advanced  a  sweet  little  sandal 
and  made  a  profound  curtsey.  Her  classic  top-knot 
of  curls  was  richly  dark,  and  so  was  the  olive  vel- 
vet of  her  cheek;  but  as  she  looked  up  slowly  from 
her  inclination,  Steven  was  quite  startled  to  find  that 
her  eyes  opened  blue  as  forget-me-nots. 

"Gentlemen!"  ejaculated  she,  translating  Nik- 
laus'  clumsy  Saxon  German  into  tripping  French  — 
it  being  the  tone  of  German  Courts  to  speak  French. 
The  blue  flowers  of  her  eyes  widened  in  surprise 
upon  Geiger-Hans.  She  had  not  known  there  were 
two  gentlemen  when  she  looked  forth  from  the  win- 
dow; only  the  goodly  youth  and  his  roadside  guide. 
But  this  elderly  person  was  a  gentleman,  no  doubt 
about  that,  and  a  fine  one,  too.  .  .  .  Only,  so  old ! 

And  now  he  took  the  lead,  as  became  his  years. 

"Madame  la  Comtesse,"  responded  he;  and  even 
Steven,  in  spite  of  his  Anglo-Austrian  ear,  could  note 
the  exquisite  purity  of  his  Gallic  accent,  "permit 
two  travellers  to  express  their  gratitude  for  the  gen- 
erous alacrity  with  which  you  have  granted  them 
hospitality.  We  had  lost  our  way " 

"Lost  your  way!"  interrupted  the  lady;  and  an 
irrepressible  smile  curved  her  lips  upwards. 


94  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Yes,  madam,"  pursued  the  other,  imperturb- 
ably;  "and,  with  the  night  coming  on,  in  this  wild 
and  mountainous  district,  Heaven  knowrs  what 
might  not  have  happened  to  us!" 

"I  know  not  what  your  destination  may  be,  sir," 
answered  she,  drawing  back  with  a  faint  air  of 
haughtiness,  "but  surely  yours  is  a  strange  itinerary 
that  took  an  isolated  crag  on  the  road." 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "we  gave  ourselves  infinite 
pains  to  attain  this  height." 

The  glance  towards  herself,  the  touch  at  his  heart, 
the  bow,  made  of  these  words  a  delicate  compli- 
ment. The  line  of  her  mouth  began  once  more  to 
waver. 

"To  have  gone  down  again,  madam,  would  have 
been  impossible.  Our  itinerary,  as  you  say,  is  per- 
haps difficult  to  explain.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  that 
we  took  a  wrong  turning,  my  friend  here  would  cor- 
rect me,  for  he  is  convinced,  madam,  it  was  the 
right  turning,  since  it  brought  him  to  your  feet." 

Here  Steven  could  do  nothing  but  bow  in  his  turn. 
This  he  did,  however,  with  such  youthful  grace  and 
so  ardent  a  look,  that  his  hostess  melted  outright 
into  smiles. 

"Sir  — !"  said  she,  coyly;  and  the  young  man  felt 
he  had  been  eloquent  indeed. 


Guests  of  Chance  95 

"Count  Steven  Lee  zu  Waldorff-Kielmansegg," 
introduced  Geiger-Hans,  with  a  wave  of  his  arm. 

"Lee?  .  .  .  Waldorff?"   quoth  she,   surprised. 

"Steven  Lee  in  England,  Waldorff-Kielmansegg 
in  Austria,"  said  the  fiddler,  blandly. 

"O  du  mein  lieber  Oesterreich!"  she  exclaimed, 
singing;  and  the  forget-me-not  eyes  became  suf- 
fused with  the  tear  of  sensibility. 

"  Waldorff- Kielmansegg  of  Waldeck,"  enumer- 
ated the  master  of  ceremonies;  while  Steven  stood 
in  dignity,  conscious  of  his  honours. 

"Then  we  are  cousins!"  She  clapped  her  soft 
palms ;  the  rising  emotion  was  forgotten  in  laughter. 
"Positively  we  are  cousins.  I  am  Schwartzenberg 
—  Betty  von  Schwartzenberg  —  and  my  mother's 
second  cousin,  Rezy  Liitzow,  married  Tony  Kiel- 
mansegg. You  are  welcome,  my  cousin." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  He  kissed  it  ceremoni- 
ously; and  she,  bending  forward,  sketched  a  butter- 
fly salute  on  his  forehead.  It  was  the  custom  in 
his  father's  country ;  but  he  had  lived  long  enough 
in  England  for  it  to  have  grown  unfamiliar.  His 
heart  contracted  with  a  delicious  spasm,  and  the 
blood  sang  in  his  ears.  Before  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing,  he  found  himself  holding  the  taper  fingers 
close,  found  his  lips  upon  them  again. 


96  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Perhaps  the  lady  was  displeased;  but,  if  so,  she 
cloaked  the  fact  with  a  very  pretty  blush,  and,  as 
they  drew  apart,  there  could  be  no  doubt  but  that 
the  young  visitor's  position  was  established.  She 
now  looked  expectantly  towards  the  elder  of  her 
guests. 

He  stood  watching  them  with  quizzical  gaze, 
tapping  his  snuff-box,  one  leg  becomingly  advanced. 
She  waited  to  hear  a  no  less  fine-sounding  introduc- 
tion. But  as  the  waiting  was  prolonged  to  almost 
a  hint  of  awkwardness : 

"Will  you  not,"  said  she,  "Cousin  Kielmansegg, 
return  Monsieur's  good  offices  ?" 

It  was  Count  Steven's  turn  to  blush. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  fiddler,  after  enjoying  the 
poor  youth's  agony  with  a  relentless  eye  for  a  second 
or  two,  "has  been  content  to  accept  my  companion- 
ship as  entertaining  and  useful  to  himself  without 
inquiring  into  my  ancestry.  But  such  indulgence, 
my  gracious  hostess,  I  cannot  claim  of  you. 
Through  all  the  noble  blood  that  flows  in  your  veins, 
there  mingles,  of  course,  still  a  drop  of  Mother 
Eve's.  Permit  me  to  make  myself  known  to  you  as 
Jean,  Seigneur  de  la  Viole,  Marquis  de  Grand- 
Chemin.  ...  I  lay  but  a  couple  of  my  poor  titles 
at  your  feet." 


Guests  of  Ctiance  97 

She  pondered  awhile,  nibbling  her  little  finger, 
her  delicate  eyebrows  wrought  as  if  in  effort  of  mem- 
ory. Then  she  said  with  gravity: 

"Your  name,  sir,  has  an  ancient  sound." 

"Madam,"  he  responded,  "I  would  not  boast, 
but  there  is  none  more  ancient  in  our  world." 

Over  again  she  pondered,  looking  down  at  the 
tip  of  her  sandal.  The  blue  eyes  took  stock  afresh, 
and,  thereupon,  sunshine  chased  the  gathering  cloud 
from  her  face.  With  the  air  of  one  making  up  her 
mind  to  be  amused  without  questioning: 

"You  are  welcome,  too,"  she  said,  "Monsieur 
My  Guest." 

"Ah,  madam,"  responded  he,  "pity  that  this, 
the  fairest  of  my  titles,  must  needs  be  the  most  fleet- 
ing!" 

Tying  a  blue  riband  into  a  hasty  knot  as  she  came, 
entered  Sidonia,  almost  at  a  run.  All  this  time  she 
had  been  striving  to  turn  her  heavy  fair  tresses  into 
the  fashionable  top-knot,  as  demonstrated  by  Count- 
ess Betty  —  with  what  result  her  aunt's  first  glance 
of  pity  told  her  but  too  clearly.  She  halted  in  her 
rapid  advance,  and  stood,  blushing  like  a  school- 
girl, unable  to  lift  her  eyes. 

"Child,"  said  the  Burgravine,  "here  is  my  cousin, 
Count  Kielmansegg,  who  could  not  pass  by  his 


98  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

kinswoman  in  exile  without  personally  inquiring 
after  her  well-being."  When  Sidonia  ventured  a 
stealthy  look,  it  was  to  find  —  oh,  bitter  moment ! 
—  that  she  was  unrecognized.  "And  this  gentle- 
man   "  pursued  her  aunt,  with  a  small,  sarcas- 
tic smile. 

The  girl,  bewildered,  had  begun  her  second  curt- 
sey, when  she  stopped  herself  with  a  cry  of  utter 
amazement  — • 

"Thou,  Geiger-Onkel!" 

"Madam,"  intervened  the  fiddler,  gravely,  address- 
ing the  Burgravine,  "that  is  yet  another  of  my 
honours  —  to  young  people  who  love  my  music, 
I  am  the  Geiger-Onkel." 

"We  are  decidedly  en  famille  to-night,"  said  the 
Burgravine,  with  a  trace  of  acidity.  "But  here, 
child,"  she  proceeded  in  a  meaning  tone,  "your 
friend  had  better  be  known  as  Monsieur  de  la 
Viole." 

"Marquis  de  Grand- Chemin,"  insistently  added 
the  vagrant,  with  his  courtly  bow. 

"Marquis  de  Grand- Chemin,"  admitted  the  lady. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  the  arm  of  her  cousin,  the  mere 
Count,  that  she  took  to  conduct  her  to  the  dining 
apartment. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

ROSES   OF  TRIANON 

"  As  for  the  girl,  she  turned  to  her  new  being — 
Loved,  if  you  will :  she  never  named  it  so: 
Love  comes  unseen  —  we  only  see  it  go" 

AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

THE  servants  had  retired:  Master  Geiger-Hans' 
promised  supper-party  was  over.  It  had  been  to 
the  full  as  succulent  and  as  elegant  as  he  had  fore- 
told. And  now,  holding  the  stem  of  a  long  cut- 
glass  beaker  between  his  second  and  third  fingers, 
he  was  gazing  abstractedly  at  the  noble  wine. 
Where  were  his  thoughts,  and  why  was  he  so  dull  all 
at  once,  with  flower  and  silver  before  him,  crystal 
and  fine  porcelain?  With  the  ruby  waiting  in  his 
cup,  too  —  the  ruby  of  that  noble  "  Clos  Vougeot " 
before  which  Bonaparte,  the  republican,  on  his  way 
to  Italy,  had  made  his  soldiers  halt  and  present 
arms  as  to  the  prince  of  vintages !  Geiger-Hans, 
who  could  sing  over  a  hard  crust  by  the  dusty 
roadside  and  give  thanks  for  the  water  of  the  moun- 
tain stream,  had  he  had  his  violin  in  his  hand  now, 
its  music  would  have  been  of  tears. 

99 


100  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

His  eye  moved.  It  rested  first  on  the  fresh  briar- 
rose  face  of  the  girl  with  a  strange  look  of  tenderness ; 
then  it  fell  upon  the  Burgravine.  Her  plump,  olive 
shoulders  half  out  of  her  gown,  her  exquisite  little 
doll  face  thrust  forward  —  the  whole  of  her  an  altar 
to  admiration  —  she  was  offering  herself  in  eager- 
ness, in  ecstasy,  to  the  fire  that  was  beginning  to 
kindle  in  the  hitherto  decorous  countenance  of  the 
youth  opposite  to  her.  And  as  the  musician  noted 
this,  he  frowned  and  his  lips  curled  into  contempt. 
Then  his  gaze  sought  Steven.  He  saw  the  flush 
upon  the  boy's  cheek  and  the  light  in  his  eye;  and 
his  frown  grew  deeper.  This  trivial  flame  was  none 
of  his  kindling. 

He  turned  in  his  chair  and  looked  again  keenly 
at  the  silent  girl.  There  was  something  austere 
in  the  mantle  of  pride  and  shyness  in  which  she 
had  wrapped  herself. 

"Little  Mamzell  Sidonia!"  said  he,  softly.  She 
flashed  a  glance  at  him  and  her  eyes  filled.  "Shall 
I  make  you  some  music?"  His  face  relaxed  into 
tenderness  again  as  he  spoke. 

She  nodded.  The  corners  of  her  mouth  quivered ; 
if  she  had  said  a  word,  she  must  have  burst  into  sobs. 

"She  but  put  a  pillow  under  his  head,"  thought 
the  fiddler,  "and  that  was  enough  to  make  the 


Roses  of  Trianon  101 

flower  of  love  blossom!  Ah,  youth!  Poor  heart!" 
Once  more  he  regarded  the  other  pair,  who  were 
now  whispering. 

"After  the  feast,  the  dance.  What  say  you?" 
he  cried. 

"Oh,  the  dance,  the  dance!"  exclaimed  the 
Burgravine,  leaping  to  her  feet.  —  What  a  woman, 
what  a  puppet ! 

"Then  I  will  play  to  you,"  went  on  Geiger-Hans. 
And  grinning  Niklaus  was  despatched  for  his  violin. 

"It  shall  be  a  minuet,"  said  the  player  after  a  pause, 
on  the  echo  of  a  sigh. 

Then  the  Marquis  de  Grand- Chemin  waved  his 
bow  with  a  flourish.  The  ruffles  at  his  wrists  flew, 
he  took  a  step  with  a  grace :  it  was  as  if  a  fragrance 
from  dead  Trianon  roses  were  wafted  in  between 
the  barbarous  Gothic  tapestries  of  the  Burg. 

"It  is  the  dance  of  great  ladies  and  fine  gentle- 
men," he  said,  beginning  a  melody  of  bygone  days, 
mingled  with  archness  and  subtle  melancholy.  And 
playing,  he  went  on,  his  words  winding  themselves 
with  a  kind  of  lilt  of  their  own  into  the  garland  of 
sounds:  "You,  sir,  bow  with  your  hand  on  your 
heart.  You  take  her  hand  and  you  look  into  her 
eyes.  '  Ah ! '  say  you,  eloquent  though  silent,  '  to 
hold  those  delicate  finger-tips,  madam,  through 


102  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

life  ...  to  have  the  rapture  of  your  sweet  company 
.  .  .  then,  indeed,  would  every  step  be  music ! ' 
'Oh,  sir'  (says  she  in  the  same  language),  'you 
overpower  me  ! '  And  with  this  she  sinks  from  you 
into  a  curtsey  that  is  all  dignity,  all  grace.  Again 
you  bow  — '  of  a  verity  you  did  not  deserve  her ! ' 
But  what  is  this?  Her  hand  is  in  yours  again. 
Oh,  this  time  you  draw  closer  to  her  .  .  .  you  hold 
her  little  hand  aloft !  The  satin  of  her  gown  whis- 
pers to  your  damask  —  her  shoulder  for  one  instant 
touches  yours  —  you  lead  her  from  right  to  left  — 
with  what  pride,  heavens !  what  respect !  You 
turn  her  lovely  form,  by  the  merest  hint  of  your 
adoring  fingers,  from  that  side  to  this,  that  all  may 
see,  and  see  again,  the  prize  that  has  fallen  to  your 
lot.  .  .  ." 

"We  do  not  dance  the  minuet  in  our  days," 
interrupted  Steven,  with  bashful  resentment. 

John  of  the  Viol's  delicate  measures,  that  had 
rung  half  humorous,  half  pathetic,  wholly  sweet, 
as  memories  of  past  delights  must  ever  be,  ceased 
abruptly.  He  gave  the  young  man  a  dark  look 
as  he  held  his  bow  aloft. 

"No,"  said  he,  "you  are  right.  The  minuet  has 
gone  to  the  guillotine.  France  has  brought  new 
dances  into  fashion :  £Ta  ira,  fa  Ira  .  .  .  Dansons 


Roses  of  Trianon  103 

la  carmagnole!"  His  face  grew  terrible  as  he  struck 
the  notes  of  the  blood-stained  gutter-song  into  his 
strings.  "New  dances  for  France,  that  she  may 
dance  to  her  death !  .  .  ." 

"Fie,  the  ugly  tune!"  said  Countess  Betty.  No 
shadow  of  the  musician's  tragic  passion  was  reflected 
upon  her  face.  "  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  play  us 
a  valse!"  She  caught  joyfully  at  her  own  sugges- 
tion as  a  child  its  ball.  "A  valse,  a  valse!  Beau 
Cousin  of  Kielmansegg,  they  tell  me  'tis  the  rage. 
A  pin  for  your  old  minuets !" 

"A  valse  be  it!"  said  Geiger-Hans.  Anger  was 
upon  him,  and  he  made  his  violin  chant  it,  setting 
it  and  the  brutal  irony  of  the  "  £?a  ira"  to  the  rhythm 
of  a  fantastic  valse.  "Twirl,  vapid  heart  and  empty 
head !  Hold  her,  prance  round  with  her,  feel  your 
goat's  legs  growing,  you  who  might  have  lifted  your 
head  with  the  gods  and  known  the  matchless  rapture 
of  the  heights  !  Is  it  for  this  that  you  are  young?" 

Faster  and  faster  went  the  music,  fevered,  with 
mad,  shrill  skirl;  and  faster  the  whirling.  Beau 
Cousin  began  to  pant.  He  held  Belle  Cousine  so 
close  to  him  that  she,  too,  scarce  could  breathe. 
Loose  flew  her  hair  —  one  little  sleeve  almost  broke 
across  the  heaving  shoulder.  Sidonia  could  look 
no  longer;  she  turned  to  the  window  and  leaned 


104  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

her  hot  cheek  against  the  pane,  staring  at  the  stars 
with  burning  eyes.  Something  clutched  at  her  heart 
and  throat  with  a  fierce  grip. 

Without  warning,  Geiger-Hans  brought  his  bow 
across  his  strings  with  a  tearing  sound,  and,  as  if 
a  sharp  sword  had  fallen  between  them,  the  dancers 
fell  apart,  astonished  and  not  a  little  confused. 

Steven  staggered  and  caught  at  the  chair  behind 
him.  The  Burgrave's  lady  put  a  hand  to  her  di- 
shevelled tresses,  then  to  the  laces  at  her  bosom  and 
grew  scarlet:  brow  and  cheek,  throat  and  shoulder. 

"You  no  longer  dance  the  minuet?"  said  Geiger- 
Hans,  with  a  little  laugh,  picking  at  his  now  placid 
strings;  and  Steven  thought  that  the  man  had  the 
laugh  of  a  devil  and  that  it  was  echoed  by  his 
instrument.  "Oh,  you  have  a  thousand  reasons, 
sir,  and  so  has  madame,  for  the  valse  is  a  fuller 
measure.  Gracious  lady,  you  are  out  of  breath. 
May  I  sit  beside  you  awhile?  And  you,  sir,  will 
you  not  expound  the  first  principles  of  this  —  this 
graceful  and  elegant  pastime  to  mademoiselle  yonder, 
whose  youth  has  yet  to  learn  the  new  fashion?  Is 
it  not  right,  Burgravine,  that  these  young  things, 
after  all,  should  foregather,  while  you  and  I  look 
on  —  you,  the  staid,  married  woman;  I,  the  old 
man?" 


Roses  of  Trianon  105 

She  answered  him  not,  save  by  a  look  of  wonder- 
ing offence. 

"  Ah,  madam,"  he  went  on,  as  he  sat  down  beside 
her,  "and  you  are  angry  with  your  lord  and  master 
because  he  shuts  you  up  in  this  strong- house  ? 
But,  good  heavens,  it  is  the  proof  of  his  loving 
appreciation  of  your  value." 

"Oh,  ay!"  she  answered  in  high  contempt,  "it 
is  a  sign  of  strong  affection,  doubtless." 

"Madam,  he  lays  his  treasure  where  thieves  can- 
not attain  it.  At  least,  poor  man,  so  he  fondly 
trusts!" 

"And  therefore  the  unhappy  treasure  is  to  be 
consumed  by  moth  and  rust,"  retorted  the  lady. 

"Madam,"  said  the  fiddler,  in  a  low  voice,  "I 
imagine  that  the  owner  of  the  treasure  had  reason 
to  fear  a  more  indelible  stain " 

"How  dare  you!"  she  flashed  upon  him. 

But  he  was  picking  his  violin  with  a  pensive 
air.  Then  he  suddenly  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled. 

"Ah!  most  gracious  one,  if  I  were  the  happy 
possessor  of  a  bird  of  such  brilliant  plumage  as 
yourself,  I  would "  He  paused. 

"You  would  what?  Pray  proceed."  She  was 
waiting  for  her  triumph. 

"I  would  open  wide  all  the  doors  and  bid  it  fly." 


io6  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

And  then  she  called  to  him  again,  "How  dare 
you!"  And  so  insulted  was  she  that  there  came 
a  sob  into  her  throat. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  drawing  an  accompaniment 
of  whispering  notes  to  his  words,  "that,  after  all, 
it  is  monsieur  your  husband's  point  of  view  that  you 
think  the  more  complimentary." 

"He  should  trust  me,"  she  whimpered. 

"Madam,  who  knows?"  he  responded;  "stranger 
things  have  come  to  pass.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the 
bird  will  not  crave  for  flight ;  it  may  cling  to  the  nest." 

His  fingers  moved  delicately;  the  bow  swung 
with  the  gentle  pliancy  of  some  green  bough  of  spring 
—  it  was  a  measure  of  engaging  rhythm  and  play- 
fulness ;  yet  soft,  soft  as,  under  the  eaves,  the  swal- 
low's note  at  dawn. 

Fascinated,  she  cried,  under  her  breath:  "What 
is  it?" 

He    answered    her,    "A   cradle    song '    and 

stopped. 

His    own    face    had    altered    indescribably.     His 
restless  eye  had  grown   fixed   and  wistful.     Little 
Madame  de  Wellenshausen  hung  her  head,  and  — 
wonderful  indeed  —  a  tear  gathered  and  fell ! 
***** 

Whilst    Geiger-Hans   thus   engaged   his   hostess, 


Roses  of  Trianon  107 

Steven  Lee,  with  slow  steps,  had  gone  across  the 
room  to  the  girlish  figure  by  the  window.  He  had 
grown  to  believe  that  the  wanderer  had  some  uncanny 
power  by  which  he  enforced  his  will,  after  the 
fashion  of  that  Mesmer  of  whom  one  had  heard 
so  much.  Sidonia  turned  upon  him,  with  a  sudden 
jerk  of  her  chin,  a  flash  of  her  eye,  as  he  halted  beside 
her.  Upon  which  he  exclaimed  in  amazement: 

"Why,  great  heavens,  you  are  the  girl  of  the 
forest  house !" 

"You  have  not,  I  think,  sir,"  she  answered  him, 
"eyes  that  see  quick  or  far;  it  is,  no  doubt,  your 
town  breeding." 

The  colour  was  slowly  fading  from  her  cheeks. 
She  held  herself  very  stiff  and  proud.  But  he  was 
still  all  eager  over  his  discovery. 

"Geiger-Hans  told  me  how  you  brought  me  your 
pillow,"  said  he,  "when  I  lay  hurt  in  the  forest." 

"I  would  have  done  the  same  to  a  sick  dog,"  said 
she. 

"  You  cried  over  me  when  you  thought  I  was  dead, 
he  said,"  exclaimed  Steven,  stung  by  her  contempt. 

"Had  I  known  you  better,  sir " 

Her  eyes  were  bright  and  hard,  her  lip  was  a  curve 
of  scorn  and  her  chin  a  tilted  defiance.  But  all  at 
once  he  saw  that,  under  the  close-clinging  fabric 


108  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

of  her  short-waisted  gown,  her  heart  was  beating 
like  a  madly  frightened  bird  in  the  fowler's  net. 
The  knot  of  blue  ribands  upon  her  bosom  danced 
with  its  fluttering.  And  there  came  upon  him  a 
desire,  at  once  tender  and  cruel,  to  feel  that  beating 
heart  beneath  his  hand.  He  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"Shall  I  teach  you  the  valse?"  he  said,  leaning 
forward.  "It  is  quite  easy  —  just  my  arm  about 
you,  and  the  music  does  the  rest." 

She  shrank  back  with  a  look  that  would  have 
blasted  him. 

"Do  not  dare  to  touch  me!"  Though  her  heart 
palpitated  into  her  very  voice,  she  held  her  head 
high  as  the  hind  in  the  forest  and  went  on :  "I  might 
have  danced  that  minuet,  as  Geiger-Onkel  put  it 
into  music.  But  I  don't  like  your  manner  of  dancing, 
sir  —  nor  your  English  manners  at  all.  It  would 
be  best  if  people  stayed  in  their  own  country."  And 
then,  while  he  stood,  as  if  her  childish  hand  had 
struck  him,  she  passed  from  him,  paused  for  a 
moment  before  her  aunt  and  the  fiddler,  who  were 
still  sitting  together  in  silence :  "I  am  going  to  sleep," 
she  said,  and  went  proudly  out  of  the  room. 

Geiger-Hans  had  shaken  off  his  musing  fit.  He 
laughed  out  loud. 


Roses  of  Trianon  109 

"What,  comrade,  won't  mademoiselle  leam  the 
valse  from  you,  after  so  pretty  a  display?" 

Madame  gazed  down  at  her  feet,  as  they  peeped 
side  by  side  from  the  hem  of  her  garment,  looking, 
the  little  humbugs,  the  pink  of  innocent  propriety. 
She  was  subdued,  even  frightened,  and  her  small 
heart  was  unwontedly  stirred  within  her. 

"Our  evening  is  finished,"  said  the  Marquis 
de  Grand- Chemin,  rising  with  his  great  air. 
"Madam,  this  gentleman  and  I  must  march  out  with 
the  dawn.  Permit  us  now  to  offer  you  our  very 
respectful  gratitude,  and  to  retire." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  took  the  tips  of 
her  fingers,  bowing  low.  She  curtseyed.  They  might 
have  been  in  his  minuet  now,  but  it  was  with  the 
music  left  out. 

"Good-bye,  my  cousin,"  she  said  timidly.  And 
"Good-bye"  said  he.  They  stood  stiffly  before 
each  other,  like  two  children  found  at  fault.  She 
was  longing  to  tell  him  that  it  must  not  be  "good-bye" 
between  her  and  him.  But  the  fiddler's  eye  was 
upon  them. 

***** 

Steven  felt  the  world  very  flat,  even  on  a  mountain 
strong-house,  as  he  sat  down  in  the  state  bedroom 
and  began  with  a  yawn  to  unwind  the  folds  of  his 


1 10  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

stock.  Next  door  Geiger-Hans  had  locked  himself 
in.  He  had  not  spoken  to  his  companion  since  they 
had  entered  their  apartment.  Count  Waldorff-Kiel- 
mansegg  felt  that  he  was  in  disgrace  with  the  road- 
side fiddler,  and  the  sensation  was  curiously  un- 
comfortable. Suddenly  the  door  was  opened  and 
his  companion  walked  in.  He  was  clad  once  more 
in  his  own  shabby  suit,  and  across  his  arms  carried 
the  borrowed  garments. 

One  by  one  he  laid  them  down  neatly  in  the 
valise,  rolling  up  the  violet  silk  stockings  at  the 
last. 

"Continue,"  said  he,  "my  friend,  to  develop  the 
growth  of  those  goat  legs  of  yours ;  it  will  save  you 
in  hosiery.  —  Pulchrum  ornatum,  turpes  mores.  .  .  . 
Need  I  quote  further?" 

"Upon  my  soul!"  cried  the  young  man,  "I  don't 
understand  what  you  mean!"  But  his  cheek  crim- 
soned. 

"You  disgraced  me  to-night,"  said  Geiger-Hans. 
"What,  sir!  I  have  the  kindness  to  bring  you  up 
here  that  you  may  snatch  a  delicate,  courtlike 
comedy  from  a  lost  century,  and  you  turn  it  into  a 
gross  latter-day  romp.  I  bring  you  from  an  alehouse 
into  a  castle,  but  you  must  needs  drag  up  your 
Teniers  with  you  and  spoil  my  Watteau !  I  play 


Roses  of  Trianon  ill 

you  a  minuet,  but  what  appeals  to  you  is  to  clutch 
and  to  gambade  and " 

"You  made  the  music,  man,"  interrupted  Steven, 
sulky  as  a  schoolboy.  "And  it  was  she  who  asked 
for  a  valse." 

"Mon  Dieu!"  went  on  the  fiddler,  passionately; 
"it  may  be  that  we  were  no  better  as  to  morals,  in 
my  youth,  than  you  are  nowadays,  but  at  least  we 
took  our  pleasure  like  gentlemen.  If  we  plucked 
a  rose,  we  did  it  with  a  grace  —  between  two  fingers ; 
we  did  not  tear  it  with  the  fist.  We  did  not  seize 
a  lady  round  the  body  and  prance  with  her  like  hind 
and  milkmaid;  what  favours  we  took  we  bent  the 
knee  to  receive.  Oh,  sir,  how  little  fragrance  re- 
mains in  the  flower  you  mangle  thus  in  your  grasp ! 
Three  things  there  are,  young  man,  that  he  who 
understands  life  must  touch  with  fingers  of  gossamer 
—  a  subtle  pleasantry,  a  lady's  discretion,  the  illu- 
sions of  a  maiden's  heart.  You  have  laid  brute 
hands  on  all  three  to-night.  —  Fie !  you  have  spoiled 
my  evening." 

The  contrast  between  the  man  in  his  humble 
clothes  and  the  arrogant  culture  of  his  speech  sud- 
denly struck  Steven  to  such  a  degree  that  he  forgot 
to  be  angry  in  his  eagerness  to  catch  further  self- 
betrayal  from  the  fantastic  enigma.  Become  aware 


112  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

of  his  eye  and  smile,  the  fiddler  broke  off  abruptly 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance,  looked 
disconcerted.  Then  he  gave  a  good-humoured 
laugh,  and  his  brow  cleared. 

"Blind,  blind!"  he  resumed.  "Why,  was  she 
not  worthy  of  one  look,  the  child  in  her  virginal 
grace?  When  I  came  across  you  again  to-day, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Burg,  my  heart  leaped  like 
a  little  hare.  'Here  is  one  now,'  I  told  myself, 
'who  is  learning  worthily  the  value  of  his  youth. 
He  shall  yet  learn  of  a  better  than  I :  for  youth  must 
to  youth  —  the  creatures  of  spring  to  each  other.' 
I  resolved,  God  willing,  that  the  fair  romance  that 
fortune  had  brought  across  your  path  in  the  forest 
should  not,  after  all,  close  at  the  first  page.  It  was 
but  cloud-building;  it  was  but  a  spring  fancy  in 
an  autumn  dream  —  fancy  of  an  old  fool !  Why, 
you  did  not  even  recognize  her !  Yet  she  held  your 
head  on  her  knees,  when  you  were  hurt.  You  were 
a  knight  to  her,  all  gallant  —  and  now ! " 

"She  seems  an  ill-mannered  child,"  said  Steven, 
sullenly. 

"She  is  as  lovely  as  the  woods  at  dawn  —  young, 
reluctant,  mysterious,  chill.  When  I  approach  her, 
it  is  with  my  hat  in  my  hand.  If  I  were  young  like 
you,  I  should  kneel  to  her.  The  set  of  her  head, 


Roses  of  Trianon  113 

the  line  of  her  little  throat "  His  voice  grew  sud- 
denly husky.  "Her  little  throat "  he  repeated. 

And  Steven,  he  knew  not  why,  had  an  impression 
of  a  sadness  so  piercing  that  he  dropped  his  eyes 
and  dared  not  look  at  Geiger-Hans  again. 

After  a  while,  with  a  change  of  voice:  "I  will 
wake  you  at  sunrise,"  said  the  musician.  "I  have 
promised  the  children  to  play  for  them  before  school. 
Besides,  I  must  see  you  safely  to  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
ere  we  part,  Count  Comrade,  having  brought  you 
up  so  high,  else  heaven  knows  what  fall  might  not 
be  in  store  for  you!" 

And  on  this  he  left  the  room  once  more. 

The  crescent  moon,  very  delicate  and  soul-satis- 
fying, hung  in  a  wreath  of  watery  mist,  high  in  the  sky ; 
far  down,  the  plain  was  wrapt  away  in  white  vapour. 
The  rugged  walls  of  the  Burg,  even  its  rocky  founda- 
tions, seemed  poised  between  heaven  and  earth  amid 
these  floating  wreaths  of  immateriality.  It  was 
a  strange  sight.  The  fiddler  sat  on  the  sill  of  the 
deep  window  embrasure,  his  knees  drawn  towards 
his  chin,  for  it  was  but  a  narrow  space,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  out  through  the  open  casement  over  the 
unsubstantial  world.  He  looked  forth.  Down- 
ward the  gleaming  rock  emerged  into  stern  reality, 


114  "!f  Youth  but  Knew!" 

out  of  a  dream  of  vapour.  He  looked  up:  the 
shredded  mists  were  scudding  over  a  faint  sky, 
carrying  the  moon  along,  it  seemed,  with  incredible 
swiftness. 

The  wanderer  sighed.  Sorrow  went  with  him 
in  all  his  ways,  though  he  held  so  mocking  a  front 
to  life.  It  was  luxury  now  and  then  in  the  hour  of 
solitude  to  fall  into  that  deep  embrace,  and  give 
his  very  soul  to  those  bitter  lips. 

***** 

Very  unwilling  was  Steven  Lee  to  rise  after  a  poor 
night.  And  very  ill-humoured  was  he  as  they  set 
out  at  last,  with  their  donkey,  breakfastless,  together. 
There  was  no  joy  or  mystery  in  the  morn ;  it  granted 
them  but  white  mists  that  wet  like  rain  and  clung 
close  as  they  descended. 

The  fiddler  was  silent,  absorbed  in  his  own 
thought,  and  paid  small  heed  to  his  companion's 
moodiness. 

As  they  crossed  the  bridge,  a  travelling-chaise, 
escorted  by  three  dragoons,  came  through  the  haze 
towards  them,  passed  them  at  full  thunder,  and 
drew  up  with  a  clatter  some  hundred  yards  beyond. 
Geiger-Hans  smiled  sardonically. 

"There  goes  the  lord  of  Wellenshausen  to  sur- 
prise his  fond  little  wife !  He  is  a  trifle  earlier  on 


Roses  of  Trianon  115 

the  road  than  I  expected.  Did  I  not  do  well  to  hurry 
your  toilet?  Who  knows,  you  might  have  been 
hurried  in  still  more  disagreeable  fashion.  .  .  . 
Well,  the  episode  is  over;  and  though  you  have 
much  disappointed  me,  young  sir " 

"But  what  will  she  tell  him  about  our  visit?" 
interrupted  Steven,  with  some  anxiety. 

Geiger-Hans  remained  silent  for  a  few  paces. 

"That,"  he  answered  at  last,  "is  a  matter  for 
illimitable  fancy." 


CHAPTER   IX 

HOME-COMING 

"  And  then  he  thought,  '  In  spite  of  all  my  care, 
For  all  my  pains,  poor  man,  for  all  my  pains, 
She  is  not  faithful  to  me.  .  .  .'" 

(  The  Marriage  of  Geraint) . 

"THE  visitors  are  but  just  gone,"  said  Martin, 
the  doorward. 

He  stood,  his  hand  still  on  the  fallen  bolt,  with 
expressionless  gaze  fixed  upon  the  Burgrave,  not 
without  secret  dismay  and  misgivings.  In  truth 
he  had  but  half  believed  the  fiddler's  announcement, 
had  scarce  expected  his  master  at  all  that  day  - 
certainly  not  so  early.  But,  now,  one  would  know 
whether  that  mad  fellow  Geiger-Hans  had  spoken 
truth  about  the  invitation  to  Wellenshausen.  If 
he  had  not,  why,  honest  Martin  might  well  suffer 
for  his  credulity.  For  Martin  knew  his  lord.  It 
were  idle  to  try  and  hide  from  him  the  blatant 
fact  that  there  had  been  visitors  at  the  Burg:  idle 
indeed  in  a  house  full  of  silly  servants;  idle,  above 
all,  with  a  prying  fellow  like  Kurtz,  the  Jager,  who 
116 


Home-coming  117 

had  his  nose  into  every  pot  and  his  ear  at  every 
door. 

That  he,  the  door-keeper,  had  admitted  a  beggar- 
man  to  his  lord's  castle  was,  however,  an  exaggera- 
tion of  the  offence  which  old  Martin  thought  might 
safely  be  withheld.  Ambrosius,  the  butler,  Niklaus, 
the  valet,  and  the  rest  were  equally  incriminated 
by  having  attended  upon  him,  having  served  him 
at  their  master's  very  table.  They  would  be  glad 
enough  to  hold  their  peace  on  the  subject  for  their 
own  sakes.  At  the  worst,  they  could  all  plead  igno- 
rance of  the  visitors'  identity.  For  the  rest,  had  not 
the  Gracious  Lady  herself  given  her  orders  ?  If  the 
thunderbolt  of  wrath  was  to  fall  on  the  castle  of 
Wellenshausen,  it  would  fall  first  and  heaviest  in 
the  upper  chambers. 

So  Martin  had  settled  his  treatment  of  the  situa- 
tion with  a  certain  dogged  philosophy;  and  his 
first  greeting  was  the  blurting  forth  of  the  truth. 

"Your  Graciousness  has  just  missed  the  visitors." 

The  Burgrave,  rolling  past,  still  puffing  from 
the  arduousness  of  the  mount  —  for  though  a  vigor- 
ous man,  he  was  of  heavy  build  —  turned  with  a 
grunt  of  astonishment  as  the  words  fell  upon  his 
ear.  He  flung  back  his  military  cloak  —  even  a 
chancellor  was  military  at  the  Court  of  Jerome  — 


1 1 8  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

dashed  his  lace  travelling  cap  from  his  head  and 
took  two  steps  upon  old  Martin.  His  large  unshorn 
chin  shone  with  myriad  grey  bristles,  which  had 
caught  the  mist  in  tiny  points  of  moisture.  The 
grizzled,  bushy  eyebrows,  that  nearly  met  across 
the  large  fleshy  nose  (jealous  eyebrows),  were  simi- 
larly beaded.  Now  they  were  drawn  together  in 
a  portentous  frown. 

A  fine-looking  man  enough  in  an  elderly,  hulking 
way,  but  scarcely,  even  in  his  best  moments,  an 
amiable-looking  man.  Certainly  not  at  his  best  now, 
after  a  night  of  hard  travelling.  And  as  for  amia- 
bility, that  thunder  cloud  upon  his  brow  was  enough 
to  wilt  the  very  conception  of  it  from  the  thought 
of  man. 

Yet  it  was  no  unamiable  passion  that  had  spurred 
him  along  the  interminable  night-road  and  up  the 
impossible  crags  in  the  wet  morn.  He  was  but 
a  six  months'  husband  to  his  Betty,  and  he  loved 
her  very  dearly  —  after  his  own  Teutonic  and 
rather  mediaeval  fashion. 

"Visitors!"  repeated  the  Burgrave.  His  voice 
rang  out,  echoing  and  reverberating. 

Martin's  little  eyes  blinked :  that  rogue  of  a 
Geiger-Hans  had  lied !  So,  then,  had  the  noble 
lady  Burgravine  herself. 


Home-corn  ing  119 

"Two  gentlemen,  yes.  The  Gracious  Lady 
bade  me  admit  them.  She  said  that  it  was  by  your 
Excellency's  orders;"  here  the  door-keeper  risked 
a  sly  glance  at  his  master  and  had,  perhaps,  an 
inward  chuckle  at  the  sight  of  his  discomposure. 

" Scamp,  had  you  not  my  orders?"  roared  the 
Burgrave. 

"The  Gracious  Lady  bade  me  admit  them," 
reasseverated  Martin;  "the  young  gentleman  being 
the  Gracious  Lady's  cousin- " 

"The  young  gentleman!    The " 

The  echoes  called  out  the  words  again  and  died 
into  silence.  The  Burgrave  reeled,  then  steadied 
himself.  Martin  saw  the  empurpled  countenance 
turn  to  an  unwholesome  grey. 

"The  young  gentleman,"  repeated  the  husband 
to  himself,  in  a  sort  of  whisper.  Then  he  wheeled 
round  and,  without  another  word,  went,  ponder- 
ous and  slow,  up  the  stone  steps,  his  shoulders  bent 
like  those  of  an  old  man. 

Betty  was  seated  before  her  toilet  table,  in  a  very 
ill  humour:  the  while  her  woman  twisted  glossy 
black  ringlets  to  the  tune  of  familiar  lamentations, 
enlivened  by  spirits  of  a  petulance  unwontedly 
shrewish. 


120  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Betty  had  dragged  her  pretty  person  from  the 
billows  of  quilt  and  feather-bed  at  an  astonishingly 
early  hour,  in  the  hope  of  carelessly  intercepting  a 
farewell  from  her  charming  young  guest.  Made- 
moiselle Eliza,  justly  irritated  at  being  aroused 
from  those  dreams  which,  she  vowed,  were  now 
the  only  tolerable  portion  of  her  existence  in  this 
dungeon,  had  purposely  withheld  from  her  mistress, 
until  the  psychological  moment  when  she  could 
watch  her  countenance  in  the  mirror,  the  news  of 
the  departure  of  the  guest.  And  then  she  had  de- 
livered it  with  all  the  gusto  of  the  self-respecting 
servant  who  has  unpleasant  information  to  im- 
part. 

"Madame  has  a  very  sensitive  head  this  morn- 
ing; it  is  doubtless  the  fatigue  of  last  night.  Ma- 
dame is  so  unaccustomed  now  to  the  least  excite- 
ment. It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  put  madame  to 
the  pains  of  much  of  a  coiffure  this  morning,  since 
there  is  no  one  to  see  her  —  but  the  crows.  If, 
indeed,  the  young  gentleman  could  have  remained: 
strange  how  anxious  he  was  to  leave  !  Up  and  away 
before  the  dawn !  And  slinking  out  of  the  castle, 
one  might  say.  Ho,  have  I  hurt  madame  again  ? 
Did  Madame  la  Comtesse  say  that  he  was  truly  her 
cousin?  A  singular  story,  not  even  a  valet  with 


Home-coming  121 

him  —  nothing  but  that  old  beggar  tramp,  who 
dined  with  madame,  also,  dressed  up  in  the  gentle- 
man's clothes " 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  cried  the  exasperated  lady. 
She  whisked  round  in  her  seat,  blindly  menacing 
with  a  brush  caught  up  at  haphazard. 

At  this  moment  the  gate  bell  clanged;  the  stone 
hollows  of  the  castle  growled  to  a  loud  knocking; 
and  then  came  the  groaning  of  the  great  bar. 

"Merciful  heavens,  more  visitors!"  exclaimed 
the  mistress  of  Wellenshausen,  a  lovely  geranium 
flushed  into  her  cheek.  Last  night's  guests  back 
again,  perchance.  Beau  Cousin  was  too  gallant 
a  gentleman,  after  all,  to  leave  her  hospitality  in 
this  abrupt  fashion.  .  .  .  Perhaps  he  was  wishing 
to  see  her  again,  as  much  as  she  was  wishing  to  see 
him.  The  little  hand  with  the  brush  dropped  to 
her  side.  "Quick,  Eliza,  who  is  it?" 

Even  as  she  spoke  the  rich  cheek  faded ;  her  bright 
eyes  grew  round  in  horror.  To  one  man  only  in 
the  world  could  belong  the  raucous  tones  that  granite 
wall  and  roof  now  gave  back  in  pulsating  vibration, 
rolling  up  even  to  the  turret  room. 

"The  Burgrave!"  she  gasped. 

Eliza's  black  eyes  glinted  joyfully :  the  Burgrave ! 
Not  only  fresh  discomfiture  for  the  mistress;  but, 


122  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

for  the  maid,  unexpected  comfort :  Kurtz  the  Jager 
was  quite  a  smart  young  man. 

"Heavens,  the  Burgrave!"  cried  Betty  again; 
and  she  began  to  tremble.  Her  husband,  upon  the 
very  stroke  of  her  escapade !  What  to  do,  now, 
what  to  say  ?  —  What  indeed  ! 

"Eliza,"  she  cried  breathlessly  —  she  snatched 
a  gold  brooch  from  her  wrapper  as  she  spoke,  and 
thrust  it  into  the  girl's  hand  —  "you  knew  I  was 
expecting  my  cousin's  visit  ...  by  news  brought 
by  the  last  courier  from  Vienna  .  .  .  you  heard 
me  mention  the  fact  .  .  .  you  heard  me  regret 
my  husband's  absence  from  Wellenshausen." 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  The  Burgrave's 
step,  weighty  and  ominous  as  fate  itself,  was  already 
on  the  stairs. 

"Bien,  Madame  la  Comtesse,"  returned  Eliza, 
calmly,  even  as  the  latch  clicked  under  her  master's 
hand. 

Betty  von  Wellenshausen  was  a  woman  of  too 
clever  instincts  to  receive,  in  this  dilemma,  her 
elderly  lord  and  master  with  exuberant  expression 
of  delight.  She  was  not  of  those  who  fall  into  the 
vulgar  error  of  protesting  too  much.  She  settled 
herself  in  her  chair  again  and  became  deeply  absorbed 


Home-coming  123 

in  the  exact  position  of  a  curl.  He  stood  glowering 
on  the  threshold.  He  had  to  call  out  in  his  great 
voice,  before  she  would  condescend  to  notice  him 
at  all.  And  then  it  was  but  a  glance  over  her  shoul- 
der. 

"Tiens,  it  is  you?  Eliza,  decidedly  this  is  not 
successful." 

Eliza,  deeply  enjoying  the  situation,  full  of  pro- 
fessional admiration  for  her  mistress's  handling 
of  the  same,  was  also  all  solicitude  over  the  rebel- 
lious lock. 

"Ten  thousand  devils,  madam!"  at  last  exploded 
the  Burgrave.  "I  would  point  out  to  you  that  I  am 
returned  from  a  journey." 

"So  I  see,"  said  the  lady,  with  another  fugitive 
glance.  "And  so  I  hear,  too,  my  friend !  Heavens, 
you  make  noise  enough  !" 

It  was  such  a  wonderfully  pretty  face,  of  which 
the  husband  was  given  this  glimpse;  his  reception 
was  so  cool,  so  unexpected,  that  the  Burgrave's 
first  murderous  rage  began  to  give  way  to  a  per- 
plexity not  unmixed  in  some  strange  way  with  softer 
feelings.  He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and 
then  stood,  hesitating. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  the  Burgravine,  boldly,  "that 
you  do  not  consider  it  worth  your  while,  comte, 


124  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

to  keep  me  informed  of  your  movements.  Had 
I  but  known  that  we  were  to  have  the  rapture  of 
your  company  to-day,  I  would  have  kept  my  cousin 
Kielmansegg  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

The  Burgrave  eyed  her  between  rage  and  amaze- 
ment. 

"Your  cousin!"  he  echoed  huskily.  Then  his 
fury,  on  a  sudden  gust  of  jealousy,  got  the  upper 
hand.  "Pray,  madam,"  he  thundered,  "when  did 
you  communicate  to  me  the  interesting  fact  of  your 
relative's  proposed  visit  ?  And  when  did  I  authorize 
you  to  receive  him?" 

It  was  the  lady's  turn  to  be  astonished;  for  a 
moment  her  quick  wits  failed  to  follow  his 
drift. 

"When?"  she  queried,  raising  a  delicate  eye- 
brow. "This  is  sheer  delirium!  And  if  you  must 
rave,  my  friend,  need  you  shout?  I  begin  to  think 
that  my  never-sufficiently-to-be-regretted  predecessor 
must  have  suffered  from  deafness  in  addition  to  the 
other  trials  of  her  existence." 

The  pupils  of  the  Burgrave's  pale  eyes  contracted 
to  phis'  points.  He  fixed  his  disobedient  spouse 
with  a  scarcely  human  glare. 

"Martin  is  not  wandering  hi  his  mind,  I  take  it, 
when  he  tells  me  that  you  bade  him  admit  your 


Home-coming  125 

friends  in  my  name !  By  my  wish,  madam  —  by 
my  wish !" 

The  bellow  with  which,  in  spite  of  his  Betty's 
protest,  he  had  begun  this  indictment,  died  into  a 
sort  of  strangled  whisper.  He  struck  his  palm  with 
his  hairy  fist.  The  Burgravine  was  unpleasantly 
enlightened. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  exclaimed  with  biting  scorn,  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  "how  well  you  are  served; 
I  make  you  my  compliments!"  Underneath  her 
impertinent  airs  there  was  fluttering  terror.  But, 
like  a  bird,  she  would  peck  to  the  last.  "And  did 
Martin  indeed  tell  you  that  I  bade  him  admit  my 
kinsman  and  his  companion  in  your  name?"  she 
pursued,  drawing  a  long  breath.  Then  superbly, 
"It  is  true,  M.  de  Wellenshausen.  Do  you  mean 
me  to  understand  that  you  would  have  wished  me 
to  refuse  the  hospitality  of  your  house?" 

The  wave  of  wrath  was  again  ebbing  from  the 
Burgrave's  huge  frame.  He  stared  blankly  at  the 
little  creature.  Her  words  had  a  singular  plausibil- 
ity. She  saw  her  advantage  and  flew  to  it. 

"My  cousin,  Count  Waldorff-Kielmansegg,  is 
travelling  through  this  country,"  said  she.  "My 
dear  mother  announced  his  arrival  in  her  last  letter." 

"The  courier  came  on  Wednesday,"  interpolated 


126  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

Eliza,  pinning  the  brooch  in  a  slightly  less  con- 
spicuous position  amid  the  folds  of  her  kerchief. 

"She  is  most  anxious  to  have  personal  news  of 
my  health  .  .  .  knowing  the  delicacy  of  my  chest, 
and  how  much  I  am  likely  to  suffer  in  these  harsh 
airs  where  it  is  your  pleasure  to  immure  me." 

The  Burgravine  wheeled  her  chair  round  to  face 
her  lord. 

"It  is  perhaps  dull  of  me,"  she  went  on  more 
boldly  still,  "not  to  have  understood  that  I  am  not 
the  mistress  of  these  barren  walls,  but  rather  their 
prisoner.  When  I  heard  that  my  cousin  was  be- 
low, I  had  no  hesitation  in  ordering  him  to  be 
admitted.  Yes,  sir,  I  even  said  that  it  would  be 
your  wish.  —  Ach,  Eliza,  what  a  stupid  mistress  you 
have !  You  heard  me  actually  lament,  I  believe, 
your  master's  absence  on  the  occasion!" 

"Madame  la  Comtesse,  indeed,  made  the  remark 
to  me,"  quoth  Eliza,  "that  it  was  of  the  last  annoy- 
ance that  Monsieur  le  Comte  should  be  absent  that 
evening.  It  was  so  trying  for  Madame  la  Comtesse 
to  have  to  receive  alone!" 

"And  indeed,  my  poor  girl,"  said  the  lady,  pick- 
ing up  the  thread  herself,  "I  could  regret  that  we 
should  thus  innocently  have  infringed  the  rules  of 
the  castle  of  —  I  should  say  the  prison  of  Wellens- 


Home-coming  127 

hausen  —  for  it  was  to  very  poor  results.  Yes,  we 
should  have  allowed  M.  de  Wellenshausen's  door- 
keeper —  turnkey,  I  mean  —  to  send  the  gentle- 
men down  the  hill  again.  My  people  would  have 
wondered.  But,  mon  Dieu,  will  they  wonder  less 
when  my  kinsman  tells  them  of  these  dismal  walls, 
these  rude  surroundings,  this  savage  solitude? 
Poor  young  man  !  in  spite  of  his  affection  for  me  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  face  another  day  of  it.  — 
Eliza,  my  shoe !" 

"Indeed,  madame,"  commented  the  maid,  pur- 
suing the  theme  from  where  she  knelt  to  fit  each 
little  foot,  "the  gentlemen  would  not  even  tarry  for 
breakfast,  so  hurried  were  they  to  be  gone !" 

The  Burgrave  listened,  was  half  convinced,  then 
a  fresh  spasm  of  suspicious  misgiving  came  over 
him. 

"Yet,  doubtless,"  he  sneered,  "not  without  a 
satisfying  farewell  from  the  hostess !  You  are 
strangely  early  this  morning,  madame." 

The  Burgravine  raised  her  blue  eyes  from  the 
contemplation  of  her  foot. 

"You  mistake,"  she  said  innocently;  "our  adieux 
took  place  last  night,  shortly  after  supper.  You  see, 
I  am  not  even  dressed.  And,  as  to  early  rising, 
mon  Dieu,  my  friend,  the  nights  are  of  such  lengths 


128  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

here,  that  there  are  times  when  I  think  it  cannot 
soon  enough  be  day." 

"And  ma  \oi"  put  in  the  maid  pertly,  "then  it 
is  the  days  that  are  so  long,  up  here  in  the  clouds, 
that  it  cannot  soon  enough  be  night." 

The  two  women  laughed.  He  stood  between 
them,  a  miserable  clumsy  man;  conscious  of  their 
subtler  wits  and  quicker  tongues,  a  prey  to  dark 
doubts  and  slowly  shaping  his  own  resolve. 

Betty  now  jumped  to  her  feet  and  shook  her 
loose  silks  and  laces  about  her  as  a  bird  shakes  its 
plumage. 

"Eliza,  inform  the  Baroness  Sidonia  of  the  Herr 
Grafs  return,"  she  bade  in  an  off-hand  tone. 

The  Burgrave  thought  to  catch  a  meaning  glance 
between  mistress  and  maid.  No  doubt  Sidonia 
would  lie  with  the  other  —  all  women  were  jades 
alike.  Well !  he  knew  what  he  had  to  do ;  mean- 
while Betty  was  distractingly  alluring  with  all  those 
fal-lals  of  ribbons  and  lace,  and  it  was  three  weeks 
since  he  had  kissed  her.  The  door  had  scarcely 
closed  on  Mademoiselle  Eliza  before  the  Burgrave 
caught  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu,"  cried  she,  pettishly,  "and  pray, 
sir,  when  have  you  shaved  last?" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  BURGRAVE'S  WELCOME 

"  /  tempted  his  blood  and  his  flesh, 
Hid  in  roses  my  mesh, 

Choicest  cates  and  theflagoris  best  spilth.  .  .  ." 
ROBERT  BROWNING. 

"So  you  have  had  visitors,  Sidonia,  my  dove? 
Eh?"  said  the  Burgrave. 

His  tone  was  good-humoured,  but  the  glance  he 
fixed  upon  the  girl  was  cold.  He  had  very  pale 
grey  eyes  that  could  stare  by  the  minute  together 
without  blinking,  a  power  somewhat  disconcerting 
(he  flattered  himself)  to  those  who  thought  to  keep 
secrets  from  him.  Sidonia  had  just  entered  the 
room  and  was  hastening  to  greet  her  uncle,  for 
whom  she  had  a  certain  placid  affection.  But  in- 
stinctively she  drew  back,  affronted,  upon  meeting 
that  gaze.  The  words  of  welcome  died  on  her  lips. 

"Yes,  we've  had  visitors,"  she  answered  defiantly, 
tilting  back  her  head.  —  Did  Uncle  Ludo  think  to 
frighten  her? 

"That  was  delightful,"  said  the  Burgrave,  his  un- 
winking stare  upon  her. 

K  129 


130  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"It  was  delightful,"  said  Betty.  She  stood  be- 
hind her  husband's  chair,  ministering  to  him  after 
the  right  Germanic  fashion  he  loved;  and  small 
scornful  remarks  on  the  number  of  rummers  she 
was  called  upon  to  fill  with  the  yellow  wine,  on  the 
size  of  the  slices  of  smoked  ham  he  dealt  himself, 
she  did  not  spare  him.  Nevertheless  she  watched 
his  appetite  with  satisfaction.  Surely  so  large  a 
meal  and  much  jealousy  could  scarce  find  room  in 
the  same  frame.  "It  was  delightful,  for  me  at 
least,"  said  Betty,  glibly.  "I,  who  had  not  seen 
my  cousin,  my  favourite  cousin,  for  so  long." 

Her  blue  eyes  rolled  warningly  at  Sidonia,  over 
the  top  of  the  Burgrave's  stubble  head.  The  girl 
gave  her  aunt  a  quick  look,  then  walked  up  to  the 
table. 

"Good  morning,  uncle.  I  hope  you  are  well," 
she  said,  demurely  now,  and  laid  a  light  kiss  on  his 
temple. 

The  Burgrave  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Come,  come,  one  kisses  one's  uncle  better  than 
that,  I  hope!" 

He  caught  her  by  the  lobe  of  her  pretty  ear, 
stretched  out  the  other  hand  and  drew  his  spouse 
forward  by  the  waist. 

"So,  here  I  am,  once  more,  with  both  my  little 


The  Burgrave  s    Welcome  131 

doves.  Aha,  what  a  happy  man  !  —  This  fine  young 
cousin  now,  your  aunt's  old  play-fellow  .  .  .  you'd 
heard  of  him  before,  eh,  Sidonia?" 

"Yes,  I  had,"  said  the  child,  sturdily.  "I  knew 
he  was  in  the  country.  And  you  need  not  pinch  my 
ear  like  that,  Uncle  Ludo,  I  don't  like  it." 

"But  it  was  such  a  little  visit,"  said  the  Burgrave. 
"That  was  the  pity  of  it.  And  to  think  of  my  having 
missed  the  pleasure  of  so  agreeable  an  acquaintance  ! 
Your  favourite  cousin  it  was,  that's  understood,  my 
Betty.  And  his  companion,  the  old  gentleman,  who 
might  he  be?" 

"His  companion?  Oh,  he  seemed  to  be  a  kind 
of  tutor,"  returned  Betty,  with  a  charming  sense  of 
satisfaction  to  be  able  to  say  something  at  last  ap- 
proaching to  the  truth. 

"Well,  my  darlings,"  said  the  Burgrave,  still 
more  jovially  —  he  had  slipped  his  great  arm  round 
Sidonia' s  waist  now  and  held  them  both  embraced 
—  "it  is  early  in  the  morning  yet,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  be  charmed  to  hear  that  there  is  every 
chance  of  my  letter  finding  the  distinguished  travel- 
lers still  in  the  village."  Each  little  figure  in  the 
Burgrave's  grasp  started.  "Quite  a  surprise  for 
you,  eh  ?  Come,  this  gaoler  (aha,  Betty !)  is  not 
such  a  bear  after  all !  Not  so  inhospitable  as  to 


132  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

allow  his  wife's  dear  relations  to  leave  the  district 
without  discharging  his  duties  of  politeness.  Yes, 
I  have  sent  Kurtz,  hot  foot,  hot  foot,  with  an  invita- 
tion to  your  cousin,  my  love,  to  return,  with  his 
companion,  to  the  hospitality  of  Wellenshausen.  .  .  . 
What,  not  a  word  of  joy  from  either  of  you?  My 
little  doves,  one  would  think  you  were  displeased. 
Have  I  not  interpreted  your  wishes,  sweetest  Betty? 
I  would  fain  do  so,  for  you  who  are  so  clever  in 
interpreting  mine." 

"Let  me  go,"  cried  the  little  lady,  of  a  sudden 
goaded  to  fury.  "You  are  squeezing  me  to  death. 
Please  to  remember  that,  if  I  am  married  to  a  bear, 
it  does  not  follow  that  I  enjoy  his  hug !" 

The  Burgrave  released  his  victims  and  looked 
searchingly  from  one  to  the  other.  Both  were 
pale. 

"What  a  festive  time  we  are  going  to  have  in 
the  old  Burg!"  cried  he  then,  with  an  ugly  laugh, 
and  fell  to  upon  the  ham  and  ryebread  with  fresh 

gusto. 

***** 

It  was  a  great  folded  sheet,  and  bore,  on  a  huge 
seal,  a  spreading  coat-of-arms.  It  was  addressed 
as  follows:  "To  the  High-born  Graf  zu  Waldorff- 
Kielmansegg,  at  the  Silver  Stork  Inn,  Wellens- 


The  Burgmves    Welcome  133 

hausen,"    and    contained    a    brief    but    courteous 
message : 

"HONOURED  SIR, 

"I  have  just  returned  to  my  house  and 
hear,  with  desolation,  that  I  have  missed  the  amiable 
visit  which  you  have  vouchsafed  to  it.  Hoping  that 
you  and  your  tutor  may  not  yet  have  left  the  neigh- 
bourhood, I  send  this  in  haste.  Will  you  not  both 
retrace  your  steps  —  if  you  think  our  poor  hospi- 
tality still  worth  acceptance  —  and  give  me  the 
exceeding  gratification  of  calling  myself  your  host 
for  at  least  a  week? 

"CHARLES  LUDOVIC, 

"  Burgrave  of  Wellenshausen." 

The  young  traveller,  who,  warmed  into  better 
spirits  by  his  early  walk,  had  been  looking  back  on 
his  stolen  visit  to  the  castle  on  the  peak,  and  his 
evening  with  the  ladies  sheltered  behind  its  for- 
bidding walls,  as  an  adventure  of  some  spice  (though, 
in  its  integrity,  harmless  enough)  was  seized  with  dis- 
appointment. So  much  for  latter-day  romance;  so 
much  for  the  Bluebeard  of  Wellenshausen;  for  the 
husband  so  ferociously  jealous,  report  said,  that  he 
must  shut  up  his  Fatima  in  a  tower  as  tight  as  St. 
Barbara's !  Why,  so  far  from  striking  off  Fatima's 
head,  he  sends  in  haste  to  recall  the  audacious 


134  "•(/  youth  but  Knew!" 

visitor,  and  craves  to  be  allowed  to  expend  upon 
him  the  treasures  of  an  amiable  disposition. 

"Ah,  fiddler,  my  friend,"  thought  Count  Steven, 
sagely,  "you  and  your  music  have  discoursed  much 
wild  nonsense  anent  the  surprises  of  life,  anent  the 
golden  rose  of  youth ;  .  .  .  but  the  world  is  a  work- 
aday place,  drab  and  dull  of  hue ;  and  the  dreams 
with  which  your  words  have  filled  my  thoughts  are 
but  the  children  of  my  own  fantasy  and  your  own 
fiddle-bow." 

He  looked  across  the  inn-yard,  through  a  screen 
of  vine  leaves,  to  where  the  fiddler  was  seated  on 
a  bench,  playing  away  with  a  will,  eyes  beaming 
upon  a  ring  of  dancing  children.  The  heaviness  of 
the  morning  was  clearing ;  shafts  of  sunlight  pierced 
the  mists.  Steven  hesitated.  The  messenger  from 
the  castle,  a  smart  Jager  in  a  green-and-mulberry 
uniform,  stood  on  one  side  with  the  decorous  in- 
difference of  his  condition,  his  lips  pursed  for  a 
voiceless  whistle  to  the  tune  that  made  gay  the  poor 
inn-yard.  A  little  further  away,  the  young  noble- 
man's travelling-chaise  was  even  now  being  packed, 
under  the  supervision  of  his  lordship's  body-ser- 
vant. .  .  .  The  Burgrave's  invitation  was  banality 
itself,  almost  trivial ;  yet  was  not  the  programme  for 
the  day's  journey  more  everyday  still  ? 


The  Burgrave's  Welcome  135 

A  phrase  in  the  letter,  that  had  escaped  notice  on 
his  first  surprised  perusal,  now  brought  an  angry 
flush  to  his  cheek. 

"His  tutor ';     And  he,  full  twenty-three  and 

practically  his  own  master  these  many  years !  Was 
it  possible  that  he  could  have  made  no  stronger  im- 
pression upon  the  Burgravine  than  that  of  a  kind 
of  schoolboy?  As  for  Sidonia,  since  she  knew  the 
musician  so  well,  she  must  also  have  known  that  he 
was  but  a  chance  acquaintance !  Yes,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  had  placed  himself  in  an  awkward 
position  by  this  consorting  with  a  person  of  inferior 
degree. 

This  decided  the  matter.  He  owed  it  to  his  own 
dignity,  to  that  of  his  family.  Was  not  the  pretty 
mistress  of  yon  castle,  by  her  own  showing,  a  kins- 
woman? He  would  go  back  and  redress  the 
ridiculous  misapprehension. 

***** 

A  bell  began  to  jangle,  ugly  and  persistent.  The 
fiddler  drew  a  long  last  note,  whereat  the  children 
raised  a  shout  of  protest. 

"Schooltime!"  cried  the  musician.  He  got  up 
and  nodded  across  to  Steven.  "Has  my  Lord  of 
the  Burg  invited  you  back  upon  his  height?  — 
Don't  go." 


136  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

The  man's  intuition  was  positively  diabolic. 

"  How  did  you  know  ?"  gasped  Steven. 

"Know?  Do  I  not  know  the  candid  counte- 
nance of  my  lord  Burgrave's  Jager?  Did  I  not  see 
him  accost  you?  Do  you  not  hold  a  letter  in  your 
hand?  O,  I  thank  my  Maker  that,  crazy  as  my 
brains  are,  they  can  still  add  one  and  two  and  make 
it  three.  And,  had  I  not  the  simple  figures  before 
me,  the  Burgrave's  course  would  still  lie  plain." 

He  came  near  to  the  young  man,  and  dropping 
his  voice: 

"The  poor  Burgrave,"  he  went  on,  "must  be 
slightly  befogged  in  the  mist  of  his  lady's  diapha- 
nous explanations.  He  must  sorely  want  to  see  for 
himself  what  there  is  between  you." 

"Between  us!"  Steven  stared  and  then  blushed. 
"Good  heavens,  what  can  he  think?"  he  asked. 

"Certainly  not  the  truth,"  answered  the  fiddler; 
"it  would  be  too  innocent." 

He  twanged  a  string,  and  it  seemed  to  mock. 
Too  innocent  .  .  .  !  His  smile,  too,  was  mocking, 
Steven  thought.  Innocence  savoured  unpleasantly 
of  that  state  of  tutelage  which  no  mature  man  of 
three  and  twenty  could  endure  to  admit.  And  yet, 
last  night,  had  he  not  been  rated  for  something  ap- 
proaching to  an  immoral  tendency?  Confound  the 


The  Burgrave's    Welcome  137 

fellow,  there  was  no  pleasing  him  !  Now  and  again, 
like  the  peasant  folk,  Steven  could  almost  think  the 
vagrant  was  possessed. 

"Don't  go,"  repeated  the  fiddler,  gravely.  "Leave 
the  Burgrave  and  his  lady  in  their  fog." 

"You  advise  me  not  to  go!"  cried  the  young 
man,  pettishly.  This  sober  counsel,  certes,  was 
quite  the  last  thing  he  had  expected  from  lips  that 
hitherto  had  suggested  the  out-of-the-way  step,  the 
fantastic  resolve;  urged  them  passionately,  in  the 
name  of  Youth  and  Opportunity. 

"Write  a  pretty  note,"  continued  the  other,  un- 
moved. "Send  it  back  by  our  friend  yonder,  and 
make  your  servants  happy  by  taking  the  road  for 
Cassel.  —  Cassel  is  full  of  Betties  and  you  can 
prance  there  in  good  company." 

He  looked  -familiarly  over  Steven's  shoulder  as 
he  spoke,  and  gave  a  mirthful  ejaculation  — 

"Sarpejeu!    I  am  invited  also,  I  see." 

Kurtz,  the  dapper  Jager,  who  had  swaggered  up 
for  a  critical  inspection  of  the  traveller's  horses,  here 
flung  a  quick  glance  at  the  speaker.  Furtive  as  it 
was,  the  musician  caught  it,  and  smiled  back : 

"What,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice  and  address- 
ing the  count,  "your  tutor,  my  young  friend? 
Heavens  forbid !  The  counsellor  of  your  youth- 


138  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

ship,  for  a  brief  occasion,  I  grant  it;  but  for  the 
rest  I  trust  I  have  more  grateful  work  in  the  world." 

"I  do  not  press  you  to  accompany  me.  I  can 
quite  well  go  alone,"  said  Steven.  "You  need  not 
return  with  me  —  unless  you  wish  it." 

The  other  made  an  ironical  bow,  and  the  young 
man  dropped  his  eyelid  under  the  gaze  that  read 
his  thought  as  in  a  written  page.  Certainly,  keen 
as  he  had  been  but  the  day  before  for  the  fiddler's 
company,  it  was  the  last  thing  he  now  desired. 

"Oh,"  retorted  Geiger-Hans,  "never  fear,  our 
ways  now  diverge.  Yours  is  too  lofty  for  me, 
comrade.  You  are  for  the  peak,  I  am  for  leveller 
roads.  Beware  how  you  fall."  He  was  shaken 
with  laughter  —  laughter  that  somehow  left  Steven 
more  uncomfortable  than  angry. 

Then  the  wanderer  cocked  his  instrument  and 
set  up  a  wild  skirling  air,  to  the  rhythm  of  which  he 
turned  and  marched  out  of  the  courtyard.  Ill  at 
ease,  Steven  watched  him  go,  go. 

Count  Kielmansegg  drove  in  state  to  the  foot  of 
the  crag;  and,  while  his  box  and  valise  were  loaded 
upon  the  mule  that  was  again  to  climb  the  rocky 
path  to  the  feudal  nest  of  granite,  he  paused  to  look 
down  at  the  waters  that  rushed  past  the  road,  so 


The  Burgrave's    Welcome  139 

swift  and  dark,  so  cruelly  cold,  from  unexplored 
caverns  on  the  flanks  of  the  mount.  As  he  stood 
the  travelling  fiddler  overtook  him  and  swung  by 
on  the  highway. 

"We  shall  meet  soon  again,  I  trust,  friend," 
Steven  cried  after  him  as  he  himself  turned  to  ascend 
the  path. 

"Who  knows?"  said  the  fiddler  over  his  shoulder, 
even  as  on  their  first  parting  by  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  but  this  time  in  a  grave  voice. 

The  young  man  glanced  up  at  his  destination, 
black  and  grim  against  a  pale  sky,  and  a  chill  came 
upon  him  like  a  sudden  shadow. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TANGLED  TALES 

"  One  lie  needs  seven  to  wait  upon  it" 
(Wisdom  of  Nations). 

STEVEN  was  scarcely  observant  by  nature:  your 
important,  self-centred  youth  is  rarely  like  to  prove 
so.  Yet  the  Burgrave's  welcome  at  Wellenshausen, 
cordial  to  effusion  as  it  was,  left  upon  him  a  further 
impression  of  discomfort. 

Jerome's  Chancellor  had  very  fine  manners,  when 
he  chose,  and  was  altogether  a  finer  personality 
than,  somehow,  Steven  had  expected.  His  joviality 
was  certainly  hard  to  reconcile  with  that  character 
of  tyrant  that  seemed  to  be  universally  ascribed  to 
him.  Moreover,  Steven  had  no  more  reasonable 
ground  of  complaint  as  to  the  quality  of  the  hospi- 
tality proffered  to  him  than  as  to  that  of  the  wines 
served  during  the  heavy  midday  meal,  for  which 
they  soon  assembled.  His  irritable  self-esteem, 
ruffled  by  the  thought  of  having  passed  for  a  young 
gentleman  under  control,  ought  to  have  been 
thoroughly  soothed  by  the  attentions,  the  deference, 
140 


Tangled  Tales  141 

the  honours  that  the  Burgrave  lavished  upon  him. 
And  yet 

When  he  was  once  more  left  alone  in  the  great 
apartments  that  he  had  shared  with  the  fiddler  on 
the  previous  evening,  he  found  himself  heartily 
wishing  again  for  his  singular  comrade  —  nay, 
wishing  that  he  had  followed  the  latter's  advice  and 
were  still  hobnobbing  with  him,  along  the  wide 
valley  roads  or  in  some  vine-hung  inn  arbour,  in 
safety  and  independence. 

He  went  discontentedly  to  the  window  and  flung 
it  wide;  it  was  sunk  in  some  eight  feet  of  solid 
masonry,  and,  high  as  the  castle  stood,  the  honest 
airs  of  heaven  seemed  to  have  no  free  access  into 
the  chamber. 

How  was  it  that  the  vault-like  oppression  of  the 
place  had  not  struck  him  yesterday?  He  stood, 
pondering,  for  a  while;  then  gathered  himself  into 
the  window  recess,  even  as  Geiger-Hans  had  done 
during  last  night's  watches. 

The  evening  shades  were  rising  apace.  Night 
birds  were  beginning  to  circle  round  the  lonely 
towers ;  distant  lights  to  twinkle  in  the  village  be- 
low. How  far  off  lay  those  comfortable  glimmers 
yonder;  how  sheer  the  depth  that  separated  him 
from  them !  An  owl  hooted,  and  the  chill  of  the 


142  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

stone  pressing  about  him  seemed  to  creep  into  his 
marrow.  He  heard  a  great  clang  somewhere  be- 
neath and  the  grinding  of  iron-bolts.  "Pah  —  the 
place  is  like  a  prison-house!"  he  cried  to  himself 
angrily  and  scrambled  back  into  the  gloomy  room. 

Then  his  valet  entered  with  candles.  The 
fellow's  face  bore  a  smirk;  he,  at  least,  found  the 
Burg  (with  the  fascination  of  Mademoiselle  Eliza) 
an  incomparably  more  agreeable  spot  than  the  Sil- 
ver Stork. 

After  him  came  a  rosy-cheeked,  bare-footed  girl, 
with  a  huge  faggot  in  her  arms  —  and  presently 
the  great  gaping  hearth  was  filled  with  a  roaring 
blaze.  And  Steven,  in  a  wadded  dressing  gown, 
stretching  his  limbs  to  the  warmth,  began  to  feel 
able  to  review  the  events  of  the  day  with  a  more 
settled  spirit. 

.  .  .  No  doubt  there  had  been  several  instances 
at  dinner,  when  he  had  felt  himself  in  an  outra- 
geously false  position — all  owing  (he  thought  severely) 
to  that  mist  of  lies  with  which  the  Burgravine  had 
undoubtedly  filled  the  atmosphere.  Triumphantly 
as  her  beauty  had  stood  the  morning  light,  ex- 
quisitely as  her  elegance,  her  fashion,  her  youth, 
might  have  struck  any  impartial  observer  by  con- 
trast with  the  gloom  of  the  mediaeval  castle,  Steven, 


Tangled  Tales  143 

on  the  second  meeting,  had  found  himself  cold  to 
her,  ashamed  in  the  recesses  of  his  heart  of  his 
previous  surrender.  He  wished  women  would  not 
think  it  necessary  to  deceive.  .  .  .  Why,  in  the 
name  of  common  sense,  could  not  the  creature  have 
told  the  simple  truth?  His  visit  had  been  a  mere 
freak  —  an  intrinsically  harmless  one.  She  must 
needs  give  it  an  aspect  of  guilt  by  an  unnecessarily 
complicated  farrago  of  explanation.  It  had  taken 
him  all  his  time  indeed  (and  no  wonder  he  could 
not  look  back  upon  that  endless  repast  without  a 
shudder)  to  parry  the  Burgrave's  point-blank  ques- 
tions concerning  people  of  whose  very  existence  he 
had  no  knowledge,  and  to  respond  airily  to  the  Bur- 
gravine's  feverish  hints,  finding  himself,  meanwhile, 
further  and  further  involved  in  myths  and  inven- 
tions. And,  throughout,  the  Burgrave  —  what  a 
deuced  uncomfortable  way  of  staring  was  his !  — 
had  an  eye  and  a  laugh  that  matched  each  other 
very  ill.  .  .  .  And  the  child,  Sidonia,  with  now 
that  look  of  scorn,  now  that  air  of  grave  rebuke, 
under  which  his  already  irate  feelings  in  regard  to 
her  almost  merged  into  active  dislike.  .  .  . 

Cross-purposes  had  in  truth  begun  on  the  very 
threshold. 

"Welcome,  Herr  Graf,"  had  cried  the  Burgrave 


144  "If  youth  but  Knew!" 

—  "welcome  both  as  my  wife's  kinsman  and  as  a 
distinguished  traveller  in  my  own  country  ! "  He  had 
been  clasped  by  two  genial  hands.  So  far  so  good ! 

"But  —  your  companion,  your  worthy  tutor, 
where  is  he?"  (His  tutor!  The  man  meant 
Geiger-Hans.  This  was  awkward.) 

Steven  had  no  answer  ready,  nothing  but  a  foolish 
obvious  statement : 

"He  has  not  come." 

How  lame  it  sounded !  The  Burgrave  had  in- 
stantly dropped  the  subject. 

Now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it,  Steven  realized 
that  it  was  here  his  discomfort  took  birth.  Why 
had  his  host  dropped  the  subject?  It  was  a  pro- 
cedure that  harmonized  neither  with  the  relentless 
scrutiny  of  his  eyes,  nor  the  ultra-joviality  of  his 
manner.  And  all  through  the  dinner  it  had  been 
simply  variations  on  the  same  motif.  A  straight 
question,  an  unsatisfactory  answer,  the  complica- 
tion of  the  Burgravine's  embroidery  and  over-clever 
suggestion  —  and  the  subject  dropped.  Thereupon 
an  access  of  hilarity  on  the  part  of  his  enter- 
tainer .  .  .  such  loud  laughter,  such  unmirthful 
eyes! 

As  Steven,  staring  unseeingly  into  the  fire,  re- 
passed  the  little  scenes  in  his  mind,  his  cheeks  flushed. 


Tangled  Tales  145 

"Your  tutor,  Count  —  by  the  way,  what  is  his 
name  ?  " 

"Well,  he's  hardly  my  tutor,  you  see." 

Here  cries  from  the  Burgravine:  "A  French 
gentleman  !  —  so  charming  a  person !  Nay,  Cousin 
Kielmansegg,  I  flatter  myself  I  have  a  good  memory, 
especially  for  anything  French.  M.  de  la  Viole, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  from  Steven,  grunting  uneasily,  "some- 
thing of  that  sort." 

"Quite  an  elderly  man,"  hastens  to  add  the  Bur- 
gravine, with  a  quick  look  at  her  husband. 

"Try  this  Burgundy,  Clos-Vougeot,  the  Em- 
peror's favourite,"  says  the  Burgrave,  and  laughs. 

He  drinks  a  good  deal  of  Burgundy  himself,  does 
the  Chancellor;  and  gets  a  fiery  countenance:  but 
not  a  sparkle  into  the  little  grey  eyes. 

"How  long  may  it  be  since  you  left  Austria,  my 
dear  young  friend?" 

"Oh  —  years,"  blurts  Steven. 

Of  course  he  ought  to  have  looked  to  the  Bur- 
gravine for  his  cue.  But,  the  devil  fly  away  with  it, 
he  does  not  take  kindly  to  these  deceits !  The  Bur- 
grave's  gaze  shifts  suddenly  to  his  wife.  The  glass 
trembles  in  her  little  hand.  She  is  obliged  to  lay  it 
down ;  but  her  voice  does  not  falter,  she  is  quite  ready : 


146  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Years?  Is  it  possible?  Nay,  cousin,  have  we 
both  grown  so  old  since  last  we  met?  But  no 
doubt,  in  that  cold,  dull  England,  the  time  hung 
mighty  heavy  with  you.  It  seems  years  to  you, 
but  —  then  we  corresponded  —  at  least,  when  I 
say  we,  I  mean  my  mother,  who  loves  you  as  a 
son." 

And,  "Oh  yes  —  yes!"  says  Steven,  in  miserable 
acquiescence. 

.  .  .  What  will  the  Burgrave  ask  next?  The 
merest  insistence  on  his  side,  and  the  whole  des- 
picable scaffolding  of  taradiddles  must  fall  to  the 

ground.  And  then ?  Then  —  no  man  in  his 

senses  would  believe  the  truth.  But  the  Burgrave 
presses  nothing.  The  stone  roof  echoes  to  his  huge 
"Ha-ha's."  Tis  as  if  the  thought  of  the  love  of  his 
mother-in-law  for  his  guest  was  quite  a  remarkable 
jest !  .  .  . 

The  sweat  of  shame  and  anger  broke  on  Steven's 
forehead  as  he  sat  before  the  fire,  immersed  in  this 
review  of  the  day's  doings. 

Two  days  went  by,  the  heaviest  Steven  had  ever 
passed  in  his  life.  He  would  have  given  a  year  of 
his  life  to  be  able  to  invent  some  fitting  excuse  to 
take  a  decent  leave.  But  his  tongue,  forced  to  so 


Tangled  Tales  147 

much  petty  falseness,  could  frame  here  no  tale  that 
carried  conviction.  He  had  gone  so  far  as  to  send 
his  servant  down  into  the  village,  with  orders  to 
bring  back  an  imaginary  courier.  But,  at  the  first 
hint  of  intended  flight,  the  Burgrave  broke  into  pro- 
testations; his  voice  was  so  loud  and  his  gimlet  eye 
so  boring,  that  the  plea  of  urgency  withered  away 
from  the  guest's  speech,  and  he  found  himself 
wretchedly  concurring  in  his  host's  hearty  announce- 
ment that  Wellenshausen  had  him  and  Wellens- 
hausen  would  hold  him  at  least  for  the  allotted 
week. 

He  had  the  further  misery  of  noting  that  here 
joy  flashed  at  him  from  the  blue  depths  of  the  Bur- 
gravine's  eyes,  and  anger  from  the  brown  limpidity 
of  Sidonia's.  Indeed,  he,  the  least  fatuous  of  youths, 
had  begun  to  find  something  disconcerting  in  the 
persistence  with  which  the  blue  eyes  were  given  to 
seeking  him:  now  in  veiled  languor,  now  with  a 
meaning  that  seemed  to  claim  complicity.  Glib  in 
speech  and  airily  indifferent  to  him  in  the  Bur- 
grave's  presence,  in  the  moments  when  they  were 
alone  together  —  and  these  were  rare,  for  Steven 
avoided  them;  though  it  would  almost  seem  as  if 
the  Burgrave  himself  fostered  the  occasions  —  she 
was  prodigal  of  sighs,  of  interrupted  sentences  capa- 


148  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

ble  of  strange  endings,  of  little  fluttering  movements 
towards  him,  all  of  which  added  supremely  to  his 
discomposure;  all  of  which,  also  after  the  fashion 
of  man,  he  felt  almost  as  much  ashamed  to  admit 
as  significant  as  to  repel. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  Steven,  invited 
to  inspect  the  view  from  the  battlements  in  an  ex- 
ceptionally clear  light,  found  himself  alone  with 
Burgravine  Betty  on  the  topmost  turret  of  the  Burg. 
The  Burgrave  had  sent  them  forward;  his  laugh 
was  echoing  up  to  them  from  the  inner  recesses  of 
the  winding  stairs. 

"O  heavens!"    said  the  lady,  suddenly. 

Steven  turned.  The  cry  was  tragic;  and  it 
answered  acutely  to  his  own  sensations.  The  Bur- 
gravine's  eyes  were  dry,  but  there  was  real  terror  on 
her  pretty  face. 

"Why  did  you  come?"  she  whispered.  "In  the 
name  of  mercy!  was  it  not  evident  that  it  was  a 
trap?" 

"A  trap!"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  yes !  Oh,  do  you  not  feel  it?  He  is  watch- 
ing us  like  a  cat,  a  cat  going  to  spring;  and  I  am 
the  wretched  mouse  waiting  —  waiting.  O,  I  can 
stand  it  no  longer!  I  shall  go  mad.  If  only  you 
had  not  come !  What  did  I  tell  him  ?  There  was 


Tangled  Tales  149 

nothing  to  tell,  say  you;  we  had  done  no  harm. 
That  is  just  it !  I  told  him  a  lie,  of  course,  and  he 
found  out  it  was  a  lie  —  that  is  of  course,  too.  A 
man  who  has  spies  all  about  his  place !  And  now 
we  are  doing  nothing  but  lie,  you  and  I.  He  knows 
we  are  lying,  and  he  is  waiting  to  pounce  on  us  in 
his  own  time.  O,  sir,  you  might  have  known !  A 
man  who  shuts  up  his  wife  for  jealousy  is  not  seized 
with  such  effusive  hospitality  towards  a  hand- 
some young  stranger  without  reasons  of  his 
own." 

The  warm  olive  crept  back  to  her  cheek  as  she 
spoke.  Her  eyes  beamed.  She  seemed  to  sway 
towards  him. 

"Then,  madam,"  he  cried,  quickly  stepping  back 
—  if  there  were  indeed  danger  for  him  between  the 
Burgrave  and  the  Burgravine,  he  would  rather 
choose  to  battle  with  the  man  —  "you  are  right,  I 
ought  not  to  be  here.  I  will  go  now.  To-day  .  .  . 
this  hour!" 

"Go?"  she  echoed  in  scorn.  "Aye,  go  if  you 
can,"  she  proceeded  with  a  change  of  tone.  "He 
has  got  you  well  in  his  meshes;  you  are  clogged, 
sir,  and  bound.  And  if  you  think  he  will  let  you 
go  before  he  has  carried  out  his  purpose  with  us, 
you  little  know  the  Burgrave." 


ISO  "ff  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Carried  out  his  purpose  with  us !  —  The  very 
vagueness  of  the  suggestion  added  to  its  unpleasant- 
ness. Steven  jerked  his  head  indignantly. 

"And  what  may  that  be,  pray?"  he  asked. 

She  glanced  at  him  a  second,  uplifting  lip  and 
eyebrow.  To  a  lady  who  had  graduated  in  the 
Court  of  Vienna,  this  big  young  man,  with  his 
English  stolid  simplicity,  was  a  trifle  irritating. 

"Mon  Dieu!"  she  said  then,  turning  aside  with 
a  shrug  of  her  shoulder,  "how  embarrassing  you 
are !  Do  you  know  your  poets  ?  Well,  then,  he 
would  like  to  find  us  playing  at  Paolo  and  Fran- 
cesca,  if  you  please,  that  he  might  play  the  Mala- 
testa ! " 

"Great  heavens!"  cried  the  horrified  youth. 
He  watched  the  lady  hang  her  head  and  droop 
a  modest  eyelid  —  it  was  Scylla  and  Charybdis ! 
Beyond  any  doubt,  he  must  walk  out  of  these 
mad-house  precincts  at  the  very  earliest  oppor- 
tunity. 

They  were  perched  high  up  in  the  blue;  and, 
down  below,  the  country  lay  spread  like  a  green 
cloth  on  which  a  child  has  set  its  toys.  Yonder 
white  ribbon  wandering  so  far  below  —  there  ran 
his  road.  Would  he  were  on  it !  He  turned  to  her, 
took  her  soft  hand,  bent  and  kissed  it. 


Tangled  Tales  151 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "it  is  best  it  should  be  'good- 
bye' —  for  both  of  us,  it  is  best." 

He  spoke  very  truly,  poor  young  man,  but  into 
the  touch  of  his  lips  and  the  pathos  of  his  speech  her 
vanity  read  another  meaning. 

"Cousin!"  she  cried  suddenly,  and  clutched  at 
his  hands  with  both  of  hers.  "O,  take  me  with 
you !  Take  me  back  to  my  own  people  !  If  I  stay 
here,  he  will  kill  me,  or  I  shall  kill  myself!" 

And,  as  his  troubled  face  and  involuntarily  re- 
pelling fingers  were  far  from  giving  her  the  response 
they  craved,  she  rushed  across  and  bent  over  the 
crumbling  parapet. 

"Refuse  your  help,"  she  cried  desperately,  "and 
I  throw  myself  down!" 

(Had  little  Sidonia  but  been  at  hand,  to  tell  him 
how  well  accustomed  she  was  to  such  threats !) 

Steven  was  quite  pale  as  he  caught  her  back 
against  his  shoulders. 

"Mercy!"  he  shivered,  thinking  of  those  giddy 
deeps.  She  clung  to  him,  her  scented  head  against 
his  shoulders. 

"Surely,  surely,  it  is  not  much  I  ask!"  she  mur- 
mured faintly.  "See  how  I  trust  you,  kinsman! 
Only  your  protection,  your  escort  back  to  our  own 
people.  It  is  not  much  to  ask!" 


152  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

It  meant  his  whole  life,  and  he  knew  it.  But 
what  can  a  young  man  do  with  a  woman's  arms 
about  him  and  a  woman's  whisper  pleading  in  his 
ears? 

"Ha-ha-ha!"  came  the  Burgrave's  laugh  from 
below.  Countess  Betty  slid  out  of  "Beau  Cousin's" 
arms.  She  lifted  a  warning  finger.  "I  will  ar- 
range," she  whispered,  nodding.  "Now  we  must 
be  seen  no  more  alone  together." 

Sidonia's  voice  also  rang  up  towards  them.  "I 
will  write,"  whispered  Betty  again,  finger  on  lip. 

O  heavens !  how  could  she  look  arch  and  smile 
at  such  a  moment? 

"My  friend,  I  have  been  showing  our  cousin  how 
far  your  estate  extends,"  said  the  lady,  gaily,  trip- 
ping across  to  take  the  Burgrave's  arm  with  more  ease 
than  she  had  yet  displayed  with  him  since  his  return. 

"I  trust  our  cousin  has  profited  by  your  instruc- 
tion, and  that  he  realizes  the  boundaries  of  my 
property,"  said  the  Burgrave  of  Wellenshausen,  with 
his  genial  smile  and  his  icy  eye. 

Steven's  heavy  conscience  read  a  hateful  sig- 
nificance in  the  remark.  As  he  turned,  his  glance 
fell  upon  the  Baroness  Sidonia's  pure  child  face  and 
he  felt  miserable  and  ashamed  to  the  core. 

*JC  5jC  IfC  SjC  5JC 


Tangled  Tales  153 

The  Burgrave's  jaunty  Jager  stood  and  saluted 
in  military  fashion.  The  Burgrave  wheeled  round 
in  his  chair  and  bent  his  brows.  It  was  dark  in  the 
great  stone  room  but  for  the  single  shaded  lamp  on 
the  writing-table,  which  flung  a  pallid  circle  of 
light  upon  his  intent  countenance.  So  might  some 
ancestor  of  his  have  looked,  four  hundred  years 
before,  as  he  planned  with  his  henchmen  the 
treachery  that  should  rid  him  of  an  enemy. 

"I  have  to  report,  my  lord,"  said  the  fellow, 
"that  the  Count  Kielmansegg's  travelling  carriage 
is  ordered  to  be  in  readiness  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
to-night." 

"So!"     The  exclamation  was  almost    triumph. 

Kurtz  pulled  a  slip  of  paper  from  the  breast  of 
his  tunic  and  held  it  out. 

"Will  your  lordship  open  it  with  care?"  he  re- 
marked imperturbably,  as  the  Burgrave's  eye  shot 
flames  and  he  stretched  out  an  eager  hand.  "The 
gracious  lady  has  not  yet  seen  it.  And  I  have  prom- 
ised Eliza  that  it  should  not  be  crushed." 

The  Burgrave  held  the  note  to  the  light.  It  was 
in  French,  and  very  terse: 

"All  is  arranged.  I  will  wait  for  you  at  the 
entrance  of  the  east  tower  at  nine  o'clock." 

The  Burgrave  stared  at  the  words  for  an  appre- 


154  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

ciable  time.  An  apoplectic  wave  of  blood  rushed 
to  his  forehead,  and  the  veins  thereon  swelled  like 
cords.  Then  he  folded  the  paper  again  with  minute 
precaution  and  handed  it  back. 

"Return  it  to  the  wench,  and  bid  her  deliver  it," 
he  said  briefly.  "Well,  what  now?" 

"I  beg  pardon,  my  lord,  but  this  has  cost  me  my 
watch-chain  to-day.  And  I  took  upon  myself  to 
promise  her  further  two  gold  pieces." 

"Fool!"  said  the  Burgrave,  harshly.  "Could 
you  not  have  done  as  much  by  love-making  and 
never  cost  me  a  kreutzer?  Young  men  like  you 
are  scarce  in  these  parts." 

The  Jager  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "She  took 
the  kisses  as  well,"  he  said  cynically.  "What  would 
his  lordship  have?  Women  are  like  that!" 

The  other  flung  the  coins  across  the  table  with 
an  oath.  Those  were  better  days,  of  old,  when  a 
man  could  have  his  bidding  done  in  his  own  castle 
without  any  such  bargainings.  But,  as  the  servant 
wheeled  and  swung  towards  the  door,  his  master 
recalled  him. 

"You  have  left  my  orders  in  the  village?  If 
that  fiddling  beggar  dares  present  himself  near 
my  doors  again,  I  shall  have  him  flogged  till  the 
skin  hangs  in  strips,  and  then  .  .  .  and  then  set 


Tangled  Tales  155 

the  dogs  upon  him.  The  miserable  rapscallion ; 
the  impudent  cur,  to  dare  to  play  his  tricks  as  high 
as  my  very  table,  to  dare  to  break  bread  with  my 
wife!" 

The  Burgrave  struck  the  table  so  that  the  rummer 
of  Burgundy  at  his  elbow  splashed  red  upon  his 
hand ;  the  Jager  glanced  at  the  empty  bottle  and 
then  at  his  lord's  inflamed  countenance,  and  gave 
his  soldierly  response: 

"Zw  Befehl."  Then  he  added,  the  insolence  of 
the  servant  who  feels  superior  to  his  employer  in 
coolness  and  clear-headedness  piercing  through 
his  well-drilled  air  of  subordination:  "May  it  please 
your  Excellency,  the  folk  about  here  believe  the 
fiddler  to  be  some  great  person  in  disguise." 

The  Burgrave's  eyes  were  bloodshot  this  evening; 
the  Jager  was  minded  of  the  glare  of  an  old  boar 
at  bay. 

"It  is  quite  likely,"  he  proceeded  jauntily,  "that 
the  gentleman  was  similarly  deceived." 

"  The  gentleman  —  the  gentleman  ?  What  gentle- 
man, you  rascal?" 

"The  gracious  young  gentleman,  the  cousin  of 
her  Excellency." 

The  Burgrave  gave  a  savage  growl: 

"Out  of  my  sight!" 


156  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

With  some  additional  briskness  of  gait,  Kurtz 
drew  the  solid  oak  door  between  himself  and  the 
Chancellor. 

Alone,  Betty's  husband  yielded  himself  to  a  con- 
vulsion of  rage.  Again  he  beat  the  table  with  his 
hands,  anon  tore  at  his  bristling  hair;  suffocating, 
he  wrenched  the  stock  from  his  throat;  broken 
words,  curses,  threats,  ejaculations  of  self-pity 
escaped  him.  When  at  length  he  recovered  his 
senses  in  some  fashion,  he  was  shaking  as  if  from 
an  ague.  He  caught  up  the  last  glassful  of  wine 
and  drained  it  at  a  draught.  Then  he  subsided 
heavily  into  his  chair,  and  drawing  unmeaning 
signs  with  his  fingers  through  the  spilt  wine  upon 
the  polished  oak,  began  slowly  to  repeat,  half  aloud, 
the  words  of  the  letter  Kurtz  had  brought  him. 

"The  entrance  of  the  east  tower,  at  nine  o'clock." 

Suddenly  a  shout  of  laughter  escaped  him. 

"The  entrance  of  the  east  tower.  You  have 
chosen  well,  my  turtle  doves!" 

He  let  his  head  drop  between  his  hands  and  sat 
in  sodden  brooding. 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  BURGRAVE'S  FAREWELL 

"  —  What  means  this,  my  lord  ? 

—  Marry,  this  is  miching  malltcho;  it  means  mischief? 

(Hamlet). 

COUNTESS  BETTY  had  the  megrims  and  declined 
to  appear  at  supper.  For  a  sufferer,  however, 
she  had  a  bright  eye,  and  she  moved  about  her  room 
with  the  alacrity  of  a  busy  bird.  She  was  alone, 
some  belated  notion  of  prudence  having  bade  her 
dismiss  her  handmaiden  during  the  final  prepara- 
tion. Her  eyes  were  taking  in  wistfully  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  small  travelling-bag  (which  was  all 
that,  in  conscience,  she  could  allow  herself,  since 
Cousin  Kielmansegg  would  have  to  carry  it  himself 
down  the  precipitous  roads)  and  the  numberless 
objects  which,  at  the  last  moment,  seemed  to  her 
indispensable,  when  there  came  a  tap  at  her  window. 
She  started  —  and  only  the  sense  of  unacknowledged 
guilt  weighing  on  her  soul  kept  her  from  screaming 
aloud  for  help  —  when  she  perceived,  pressed  against 
the  uncurtained  pane,  a  man's  face.  The  next 


158  "ff  Youth  but  Knew!" 

instant,  however,  she  had  recognized  the  wander- 
ing fiddler.  She  hurried  towards  him. 

"A  message?"  she  cried  eagerly,  as  she  opened 
the  casement. 

The  man  swung  himself  in  and  sat  on  the  deep 
window-seat.  His  face  was  wet  with  rain.  He 
gazed  upon  her  for  a  second,  quizzically,  and  when 
he  spoke  it  was  not  in  reply. 

"Here  I  come,"  said  he,  "by  the  ivy,  at  the  risk 
of  my  neck,  I,  whom  your  worthy  lord  and  master 
threatened  to  have  flogged  and  thrown  to  the  dogs, 
if  he  caught  me  up  here  again !  What  a  foolish 
plight  should  I  be  in,  had  I  counted  upon  your  tender 
heart  sparing  a  tremor  for  my  perils !  It  is  enough 
to  make  a  man  desire  to  walk  in  by  the  door  for 
the  rest  of  his  life!" 

"But,  in  heaven's  name,"  she  exclaimed,  having 
but  a  matter-of-fact  spirit,  in  spite  of  its  dainty 
envelope,  "you  did  climb  up  all  the  way  to  tell  me 
something.  Was  it  not  a  message?" 

He  bowed. 

"From  him?" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "From  myself," 
he  answered. 

She  glanced  at  him  and  then  at  her  bolted  door 
in  renewed  alarm.  He  read  her  thought.  v 


The  Burgravis  Fareivell  159 

"God  forbid !"  quoth  he,  smiling  with  an  air  that 
put  him,  in  his  poor  raiment,  at  an  extraordinary 
distance  above  her.  "I  should  not  so  presume, 
madam. — Are  you  aware,"  he  pursued  in  another 
tone,  "that  your  husband's  confidential  Jager  was 
in  intimate  conversation  with  Count  Kielmansegg's 
postilion  in  the  village  to-day?" 

"Mercy  !"  she  cried,  reading  the  portent. 

"After  which,  my  dear  madam,  he  climbed  the 
hill  in  a  company  that  lightened  the  way  for  him, 
having,  in  fact,  his  arm  round  the  trim  waist  of  your 
own  handmaiden." 

Countess  Betty  sank  on  a  couch,  white  to  her  lips. 

"Your  trusted  handmaiden,"  repeated  the  fiddler, 
emphatically. 

"Alas!  if  I  had  hesitated,"  said  the  lady,  piously 
turning  up  her  eyes  to  the  vaulted  ceiling,  "this 
would  decide  it;  I  dare  not  risk  another  night  in 
this  castle." 

"Taking  risk  for  risk,"  said  the  musician,  care- 
lessly, "if  I  were  timid,  I  should  prefer  the  waiting 
hazard." 

"You  mean?"  she  panted,  round-eyed,  in  quick 
apprehension. 

"I  mean,"  said  he,  "that  it  is  raining  exceedingly 
hard,  and  that  between  this  and  the  foot  of  the 


160  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

crag  you  will  get  wet,  madam;  so  wet  as  to  extin- 
guish for  ever  the  most  ardent  flame." 

The  Burgravine  rose  with  dignity.  "I  will  have 
you  know,  sir,  that  I  am  merely  accepting  Count 
Kielmansegg's  protection  back  to  my  own  family, 
because  I  know  I  can  trust  to  his  honour." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  in  a  soothing 
voice.  "And  it  is,  of  course,  infinitely  preferable 
to  set  forth  by  night  in  secret,  with  a  handsome 
young  man,  than  to  summon  any  more  aged  or 
nearer  relative  to  your  help !  A  father,  maybe  — 
or  a  brother?  But  it  is  raining,  as  I  say,  madam, 
very  hard.  So  much  for  the  start.  And  I  am  afraid 
when  you  arrive  in  Austria  your  noble  family  may 
consider  your  journey  ill-managed." 

Her  bosom  heaved. 

"It  is  very  unjust,"  she  moaned,  "that  you  men 

can  do  everything,  whereas  we  poor  women " 

She  paused  on  the  brink  of  tears. 

"Ah!"  he  retorted,  "you  women  are  the  crystal 
cups  that  hold  the  honour  of  the  house !  That  is 
why  we  must  set  you  in  a  shrine,  madam.  To- 
night it  is  still  sanctuary  in  your  presence,  and  I 
can  still  kneel  before  you.  To-morrow ?" 

The  colour  rushed  into  her  face.  She  tried  to 
speak  with  haughtiness,  but  her  voice  faltered. 


The  Burgrave's  Farewell  161 

"  To-morrow  —  what  then  ?  " 

"It  is  inconceivable  how  much  wiser  it  would  be 
for  you  to  remain  under  a  husband's  roof  on  such 
a  night!" 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  With  squirrel 
nimbleness  the  fiddler  twisted  round  and  vanished. 
The  Burgravine  took  a  rapid  survey  of  the  room, 
whisked  the  bag  into  a  cupboard,  the  jewel-cases 
on  the  top  of  it,  and  went  to  the  window  to 
close  it. 

"One  moment,  one  moment!"  she  called,  as  the 
knocking  was  discreetly  repeated,  and  paused  with 
her  hand  on  the  casement.  Certainly  it  was  most 
uncomfortable  weather!  Then  she  opened  the 
door.  Sidonia  entered. 

"Little  aunt,  is  your  head  better?" 

"Yes,  child,  yes.  You  have  supped?  Is  it  so 
late?"  Before  the  girl  could  answer,  the  bell  of 
the  castle  clock  began  to  boom  nine  strokes.  "Nine 
o'clock!"  shrieked  the  Burgravine.  "What's  to 
be  done?"  She  struck  her  forehead  with  a  dis- 
traught air.  "I  dare  not  trust  that  false  Eliza," 
she  murmured  in  her  mind.  Then  her  eye  met 
Sidonia's  candid  gaze,  and  she  caught  her  hand. 
"Listen,  child;  you  shall  do  something  for  me. 
Count  Kielmansegg  is  going  away  to-night." 


162  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

The  girl's  pupils  widened,  her  face  grew  paler, 
but  she  did  not  speak. 

"'Twas  I  bade  him  leave.  Your  uncle's  cause- 
less jealousy  .  .  ." 

The  girl  nodded.  The  Burgrave,  in  truth,  had 
been  no  pleasant  companion  that  night.  He  had 
drunk  heavily,  and  alternated  between  glowering 
spells  of  silence  and  loud  and  almost  offensive  pleas- 
antries aimed  at  his  guest,  both  of  which  had,  not 
unnaturally,  considerably  embarrassed  Count  Kiel- 
mansegg. 

'"Twas  my  duty!"  (Oh,  how  virtuous  felt  the 
Burgravine  of  Wellenshausen  !)  "  I  had  promised 
him  (poor  youth,  he  is  my  cousin !)  that  I  would 
bid  him  'Good-bye.'  But  now"  -(positively 
Countess  Betty  thought  her  niece  must  perceive  the 
halo  growing  round  her  head)  —  "now  it  has  struck 
me  that  if  your  uncle  heard  of  it,  he  might  miscon- 
strue    My  dear,  you  must  go  and  tell  Count 

Steven  from  me " 

"I?"  cried  Sidonia,  and  started. 

"You  must,"  insisted  the  lady,  harshly.  "He 
is  waiting  in  the  east  tower.  Tell  him  this:  'My 
aunt  has  sent  me  to  say  "Good-bye"  for  her;  it 
is  better  so.  ...  It  is  better  so.'  Do  not  forget 
to  say  that.  What  are  you  waiting  for,  girl  ?  Go ! 


The  Biirgrave's  Farewell  163 

Perhaps  you  are  afraid  of  the  rain  !"  cried  the  Bur- 
gravine,  scornfully,  and  seized  the  travelling-cloak 
that  was  lying  ready  on  the  bed.  "Here,  put  this 
on ;  wrap  the  hood  over  your  head.  Now  run,  there 
is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost." 

There  was,  perhaps,  more  urgency,  more  fear, 
in  her  voice  and  manner  than  she  had  been  aware 
of,  for  Sidonia,  after  a  quick  look  at  her,  gathered 
the  folds  of  the  cloak  about  her  and  fled  upon  her 
errand.  The  Burgravine  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief, 
then  rang  her  hand-bell  sharply. 

"Eliza,"  said  she  to  the  responsive  damsel,  and, 
on  the  spot,  froze  her  with  a  glance  for  the  imperti- 
nent air  of  confederacy  with  which  she  had  entered, 
"light  up  a  fire  and  serve  supper  to  me.  My  head 
is  better.  Trim  the  candles  and  give  me  'La  Nou- 
velle  U.iloise.''  How  you  stare,  wench !  Have 
you  fallen  in  love,  perhaps,  that  you  do  your  work 
so  ill  to-day?" 

Steven's  reflections,  as  he  waited  in  the  best- 
sheltered  corner  of  the  deserted  tower,  listening  to 
the  beat  and  gurgle  of  the  rain,  were  of  an  unsatis- 
factory description.  The  folly  of  weakness  is  the 
worst  of  follies,  the  realization  of  it  the  most  galling. 
He  was  about  —  no  use  in  trying  to  blink  the  fact  — 


164  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

he  was  about  to  ruin  his  own  life ;  to  take  upon  him- 
self an  intolerable  burden;  to  commit,  technically 
at  least,  a  crime  against  hospitality;  to  put  a  stain 
upon  his  ancient  name;  and  all  without  receiving 
in  return  the  slightest  gratification  or  being  able  to 
proffer,  even  to  himself,  the  exoneration  of  any 
approach  to  passion.  The  mere  thought  of  the  long, 
intimate  drive  was  a  bore ;  the  prospect  of  a  possible 
life-long  companionship  with  the  Burgravine  in- 
tolerable. 

Geiger-Hans,  mysterious  wretch  that  he  was, 
had  much  to  answer  for.  And  yet,  had  Steven 
followed  his  advice  (he  had,  in  honesty,  to  admit 
this)  things  would  not  be  at  this  pass. 

She  came  in  upon  him  with  a  rapid  step  and  a 
rustle  of  wet  garments,  stopped  at  the  mouth  of  the 
passage,  and  said  in  a  loud  whisper: 

"Are  you  there,  Hen  Graf?" 

As  he  went  forward,  she  clutched  his  wrist  with 
a  cold  hand. 

"Hush,"  she  cried,  "I  think  I  heard  steps  behind 
me!" 

Both  listened,  not  daring  to  breathe.  Oh,  what 
a  situation  for  a  youth  whose  pride  it  had  been  to 
hold  his  head  high  in  the  world ! 


The  Burgrave's  Farewell  165 

Nothing  was  heard,  however,  save  the  wild, 
dismal  murmur  of  the  rain  over  the  land,  and  the 
nearer  drip  and  patter. 

"No,  there  is  nothing,"  he  said,  and  reluctantly 
passed  a  limp  arm  round  her  shoulders.  To  his 
surprise,  they  were  jerked  from  his  touch  with  re- 
sentment. The  next  moment,  however,  by  a  mutual 
movement,  they  caught  at  each  other ;  for  there  came 
an  unaccountable  grinding  about  their  ears,  and 
almost  immediately  the  solid  ground  gave  way  under 
their  feet. 

"  Gracious  Powers !  is  the  tower  falling?"  cried  he. 

Even  as  he  clasped  the  figure  beside  him,  with 
the  instinctive,  protecting  action  of  man  for  woman, 
he  was  aware  that  the  slender  thing  in  his  arms 
could  not  be  the  Burgravine.  But  at  the  same  instant 
they  were  sliding;  and  before  he  could  do  aught 
but  throw  himself  backwards  to  avoid  crushing  her, 
they  were  shot  with  giddy  swiftness  down  a  steep 
incline.  With  a  shock,  his  feet  struck  level 
ground;  he  lay  dazed  and  breathless,  her  weight 
across  his  breast.  Stars  danced  before  his  eyes. 
Vaguely,  as  from  a  great  distance,  he  heard  over- 
head the  echo  of  a  laugh;  then  a  thud,  and  once 
more  the  grinding  sound,  as  of  heavy,  rusty  bars. 
It  was  the  laugh  that  brought  him  to  his  senses; 


1 66  "If  Youth  but  Knew!' 

too  often,  lately,  had  that  laugh  rung  in  his  ears! 

She  raised  herself  in  his  arms. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  cried  as  he  lay. 

"No,"  she  answered  quickly.  "Don't  get  up!" 
He  knew  by  the  sudden  change  in  her  voice  that  she 
had  flung  the  muffling  hood  from  her  head.  "  Don't 
get  up  !  don't  stir !  I  must  find  out  where  we  are." 

He  recognized  now  the  young,  clear  tones.  It 
was  Sidonia,  but  he  was  past  surprise.  One  thing 
alone  stood  clear  out  of  his  confusion:  whatever 
it  might  be  that  had  brought  this  about,  he  was  glad, 
to  the  heart  of  him  he  was  glad,  it  was  not  Countess 
Betty. 

He  felt  the  girl  struggle  to  her  feet,  heard  her 
grope  with  her  hands  above  his  head.  There  came 
a  moment  of  great  stillness:  he  knew  she  was  lis- 
tening. Unconsciously  he  hearkened  too,  and  then 
there  grew  upon  them,  out  of  the  solid  darkness, 
the  cry  of  waters,  rising  up  with  a  sort  of  cavernous 
echo  as  from  a  great  depth.  And,  with  a  flash, 
his  mind  leaped  back  to  that  fearsome  race  of  brown 
river  that  swirled  so  strangely  from  the  foot  of  the 
Burg-crag,  just  above  the  village  bridge.  He  felt 
his  hair  bristle.  But  when  she  spoke  again,  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  with  its  extraordinary  accent  of  decision, 
roused  him  like  a  stimulant. 


The  Burgrave's  Farewell  167 

"We  are  safe  if  we  but  keep  where  we  are,"  she 
said.  "You  may  sit  up  if  you  like,  but  do  not  at- 
tempt to  stand."  And  then  she  added:  "You  do 
not  know  the  place;  I  do." 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  and  in  the  dark  he  felt 
her  close  presence  once  more  with  gladness. 

"What  is  this  place,  then?"  he  asked,  uncon- 
sciously whispering. 

She  answered  him  with  a  simplicity  which  almost 
made  him  laugh : 

"It  is  the  old  oubliette." 

Vague  cruel  memories  of  mediaeval  romance  awoke 
in  his  brain.  Oubliette!-  The  word  itself  was 
suggestive,  and  not  agreeably  so. 

"An  oubliette  is ?"  he  asked. 

"The  secret  trap  by  which  the  castellan  of  old 
quietly  got  rid  of  enemies  or  of  inconvenient  prison- 
ers. You  see,"  she  proceeded,  with  her  astounding 
composure,  "through  this  tower,  in  former  days, 
was  the  sally-port  —  there  used  to  be  no  other  way ; 
and  were  any  one  whose  existence  interfered  with 
the  views  of  the  Lord  of  Wellenshausen,  passing 
out  or  in,  it  was  easy  to  set  the  machinery  in  motion, 
with  the  result "  She  broke  off. 

"Of  landing  him  in  our  enviable  situation," 
he  finished  pettishly. 


1 68  "If  Youth  but  Knew ! " 

"Not  at  all,"  retorted  she.  "It  is  the  mercy  of 
heaven  for  us  that  time  and  storm  have  been  at  work 
in  these  forgotten  regions  and  provided  us  with  so 
opportune  a  ledge " 

"What  would  have  happened  else?"  he  asked 
in  a  tone  that  strove  to  emulate  her  coolness. 

"Sit  quietly  and  listen." 

He  felt  her  reach  for  a  stone,  felt  the  tension  of 
her  vigorous  young  body  as  she  flung  it.  He  heard 
the  missile  strike  the  rock  sharply,  rebound  and  then 
rebound  again.  Then,  after  a  silence,  rose  a  faint 
sound,  the  ghost  of  a  splash,  the  gulp  of  greedy, 
far-off  waters,  infinitely  sinister.  He  shuddered. 

"No  one  knows  how  deep  it  is,"  said  she,  "nor 
what  lies  hidden  there.  I  can  tell  you,  when  I  first 
discovered  this  pit,  it  terrified  me.  Old  Martin 
had  told  me  of  its  legends,  but  I  had  laughed  at 
him.  One  day,  some  months  ago,  I  scrambled  in 
from  the  outside,  for  the  old  tower  is  falling  in  ruin, 
and  explored  the  place.  But  I  had  no  notion  the 
old  trap-stone  in  the  sally-port  still  worked.  Now 
I  remember,"  she  cried  with  sudden  sharpness, 
"seeing  Uncle  Ludo  wandering  about  the  place 

this  evening She  stopped  suddenly,  struck 

by  a  new  thought. 

"But,"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  "in  heaven's 


The  Burgraves  Farewell  169 

name,  what  have  I  done,  to  .  .  .  ?"  And  then 
his  uneasy  conscience  whipped  him  silent. 

"It  is  a  horrible  trick,"  resumed  the  girl,  now  with 

a  passionate  ring  in  her  voice,  "you,  his  guest " 

An  indignant  sob  caught  her  in  the  throat.  "You 
his  guest ! "  she  repeated.  "  Oh,  whatever  he  thought 
of  you,  he  should  have  remembered  that !  I  can 
never  forgive  him." 

The  guest  who  had  meditated,  however  unwill- 
ingly, the  betrayal  of  his  host,  blushed  painfully 
under  the  cloak  of  blackness.  He  heard  her  swallow 
her  tears  and  knew  that  she  clenched  her  hands. 
After  a  while  she  went  on  more  quietly: 

"How  wise  it  was  of  Aunt  Betty  to  tell  you  to  go 
away !  And,  oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  she  sent  me 
instead  of  coming  herself  to  bid  you  '  Good-bye.'" 

Steven  opened  his  mouth,  and  then  closed  it  again 
dumbly. 

"You  would  both  have  been  killed,"  she  went 
on,  sinking  her  voice.  "Uncle  Ludovic  must  be 
mad  —  mad  with  his  ridiculous  jealousy  .  .  .  and 
he's  been  drinking  overmuch.  Ah,  dear  Lord ! 
If  I  had  not  been  with  you " 

She  gave  a  shudder.  He,  on  his  side,  had  no 
words.  He  was  silent  in  shame  before  the  exquisite 
innocence;  silent  in  admiration  before  the  self- 


170  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

forgetting  courage  of  this  slip  of  a  creature,  who 
thought  nothing  of  her  own  danger.  "Here,  indeed, 
is  good  blood  —  here  is  the  spirit  of  race!"  he 
thought,  touched  in  his  most  sensitive  chord. 

Presently,  however,  the  humour  of  the  grim 
situation  struck  him,  and  he  laughed.  There 
was  Thistledown  Betty,  incapable  even  of  acting 
up  to  her  own  unfaithfulness,  snug  in  her  bower, 
doubtless;  and  there  was  the  outraged  husband, 
gloating  over  his  mediaeval  vengeance:  Steven 
wished  he  could  be  present  at  their  next  conjugal 
meeting !  Sidonia,  childlike,  echoed  his  laugh 
softly  beside  him  in  the  dark.  It  struck  him  serious 
on  the  instant.  The  morrow  seemed  a  terribly 
long  way  off. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "what  are  we  to  do?" 

"Hey,  good  sir!"  said  she,  "nothing  but  wait. 
We  shall  not  die  this  time,  Herr  von  Kielmansegg; 
for  my  poor  uncle"  —  she  laughed  in  scorn  and 
triumph  —  "he  does  not  know,  I  warrant,  that 
there  is  a  way  out  of  this  old  death-trap,  since  there 
is  a  way  in.  A  way  other  than  by  the  hidden  lake 
and  the  barque  of  ancient  Charon.  But,  till  the 
daylight  comes,  sir " 

"Daylight !"  he  exclaimed,  and  knew  not  whether 
he  were  glad  or  sorry  at  the  whole  night's  prospect. 


The  Burgrave's  Farewell  171 

"Till  daylight  comes,  we  must  take  patience  here. 
For  one  false  step  would  send  our  bodies  to  join  the 
bones  of  the  forgotten  enemies  of  Wellenshausen." 

"So,  then " 

"Then,  I  should  say,  the  best  thing  we  can  do 
is  ...  to  go  to  sleep." 

Again  he  was  mute,  pierced  to  the  innermost 
fibre  of  his  manliness.  It  was  as  if  her  child-heart 
had  been  suddenly  revealed  to  him  —  its  trustful- 
ness, its  simplicity,  its  courage. 

"If  you  move  a  little  to  the  right,  carefully," 
she  said,  after  a  pause,  "you  will  find  it  softer,  I 
think.  The  earth  has  grown  up  there,  and  there 
are,  I  remember,  ferns.  You  will  really  not  be  too 
uncomfortable." 

The  girl  was  positively  doing  the  honours  of 
the  family  oubliette!  There  came  a  tender  smile 
to  his  lips,  and  almost  a  mist  of  tenderness  to  his 
eyes. 

"But  you,"  said  he,  "good  fairy,  guardian  angel, 
do  you  never  think  of  yourself  ?  —  Will  you  lean 
against  me?"  he  went  on,  timidly. 

He  gathered  her  to  him.  What  a  slight,  warm 
thing  she  was !  She  trembled  as  he  passed  his 
arms  round  her,  and  he  instantly  desisted.  "Would 
you  rather  not?" 


172  "If  Youth  but  Knew  >" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  whispered.  He  thought 
there  was  a  quaver  as  of  tears  catching  her  breath. 

All  the  chivalry  in  him  leaped  to  her  service.  He 
drew  back.  With  some  difficulty  he  unwound  his 
heavy  cloak  from  himself.  He  was  stiff  and  bruised, 
and  the  uncertainty  of  his  balance  in  the  blackness 
gave  him  an  eerie  sensation  as  of  precipices  yawning 
for  him  on  every  side. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  she  cried  severely. 

"Let  me  put  this  over  you,"  he  pleaded.  "And 
then  you  can  roll  up  your  own  mantle  and  make 
a  pillow  of  it  —  against  me,  thus." 

"But  you  —  but  you " 

She  struggled  against  his  covering  hands  so  im- 
petuously that  he  caught  her  with  a  grip  of  alarm. 
And  the  sound  of  the  rock  crumbling  away  and 
leaping  into  the  gulf  gave  its  significant  warning. 

"You  must  keep  quiet,"  said  he,  for  the  first 
time  asserting  the  leadership.  "And  you  must 
let  me  hold  you  and  cover  you.  It  is  my  duty  to 
serve  you,  Mademoiselle  Sidonia,  my  right  to  pro- 
tect you.  Sleep  if  you  can.  You  will  be  safe,  for 
I  shall  watch." 

She  remained  motionless  a  minute  and  then 
submitted  without  a  word.  He  placed  his  arm 
about  her;  her  head  drooped  to  his  shoulder; 


The  BurgravJs  Farewell 


173 


there  fell  silence.  In  time  he  felt  her  rigidity  relax, 
heard  her  quick  breath  grow  calm  and  regular. 

"You  are  afraid  no  more,"  he  said  gently. 

"I  don't  think  I  was  afraid,"  she  answered  him. 
Her  voice  had  grown  lazy;  and,  subtly,  by  the  tone 
of  it,  he  knew  that  she  smiled.  He  felt  ineffably 
proud  of  her  confidence,  ineffably  protective  towards 
her. 


Meanwhile,  up  in  his  chamber,  the  Bitrgrave  sat  in  sodden  brooding. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   OUBLIETTE 

"  gurdjt  bid)  nicfjt,  bit  UebeS  $inbd)en, 
2*or  ber  boSen  ©ei«tcr  2Jted)t ! 
Xag  unb  9lacf)t,  bu  HebeS  $tttbcb,en, 
fatten  iSngtetn  bet  bir  2Sact)t ! " 
HEINE. 

THE  minutes  dropped  slowly  into  the  hour. 

*P  *t*  *f*  *T*  *f* 

Something  raised  a  blood-curdling  screech  that 
went  sobbing  and  echoing  through  the  cavern. 
If  he  had  not  held  her,  he  would  have  started  in 
frank  alarm.  She  only  gave  a  drowsy  laugh. 

"'Tis  Barbarossa,  the  old  owl,"  said  she. 

And  again  fell  the  silence,  filled  for  him  with  whirl- 
ing thoughts. 

How  right  had  this  Geiger-Hans  been  in  his 
warning!  How  merciful  had  Fate  been  to  save 
him  from  his  own  folly !  Were  he  now  rolling  along 
the  wet  Imperial  road  with  the  Burgrave's  wife, 
he  would  have  had,  doubtless,  to  clasp  her  much 


The  Oubliette  175 

as  he  clasped  Sidonia.  Precarious  as  it  was,  his 
present  situation  was  infinitely  preferable.  He 
felt  like  a  father,  holding  his  pretty  child,  all  warm 
with  tenderness;  not  like  a  dishonest,  cold  lover 
with  the  woman  he  cannot  love. 

Sidonia 's  light  breathing  grew  fainter  and  more 
rhythmic.  She  was  asleep.  He  had  longed,  but 
hardly  dared  to  hope,  that  she  could  sleep.  In  his 
heart  he  went  down  on  his  knees  to  her  and  thanked 
her,  stirred  by  the  eternal  parent  instinct,  perhaps, 
but  also  by  another  emotion,  tenderer  still  and 
more  vital  —  a  reverent  bending  of  his  whole  man- 
hood before  the  purity  and  trustfulness  that  lay  in 
his  embrace. 

***** 

The  night  progressed  with  lengthening  hours. 
He  had  begun  to  make  out  some  kind  of  bear- 
ings for  himself  in  the  dark;  to  find,  by  the  cold 
airs  that  occasionally  blew  in  upon  him  from  one 
direction,  by  the  guidance  of  the  sounds  that  grew 
in  the  night's  stillness  —  the  gusty  increases,  the 
placid  subsidence  of  the  rain,  the  rustle  of  leaves 
and  twigs  —  in  which  quarter  of  their  prison  lay 
that  opening  to  the  outer  world  by  which  they  should 
escape. 

Sometimes  his  mind  wandered  far  away.     Now 


176  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

and  again  he  almost  lost  himself  in  a  vague  drearr 
but  ever  he  came  back  with  a  shock  to  the  prese'  , 
peril  and  his  responsibility.  >r. 

And  the  child  still  slept !  // 

He  began  to  grow  weary  and  cold.     His   i    / 
became  stiff,   then  numb.    The  burden  that 
seemed  so  light  upon  it  grew  almost  intolera     ' 
Sometimes  drowsiness  pressed  upon  him,  he  thou     r 
himself  in  a  nightmare,  from  which  he  must  Wi   -i 
to  find  himself  huddled  in  a  corner  of  his  travelling 
chaise.     But  he  would  have  died  sooner  than  dis- 
turb the  sleeper. 

Then,  at  the  moment  when  the  tension  of  en- 
forced immobility  brought  such  a  feeling  of  exas- 
peration and  oppression  that  he  almost  felt  as  if 
his  wits  were  leaving  him,  he  turned  his  head  in- 
stinctively in  the  direction  of  the  air  current,  and 
relief  came.  The  rain  was  over.  The  clouds  had 
cleared  away  and  a  patch  of  sapphire  sky  looked  in 
upon  him,  framed  by  jagged  rocks:  it  held  two  or 
three  faint  stars.  He  could  see  a  branch  outlined 
dimly  against  the  translucence,  and  leaves  trembling 
in  outer  freedom. 

Nothing  more  than  this,  and  yet  it  was  balm. 
The  torture  that  gripped  him  subsided.  He  gazed 
and  forgot  the  cramping  of  his  limbs.  The  first 


The  Oubliette  177 

;ars   passed   slowly   and   vanished;    others   swam 

to  his  vision  and  formed  new  shapes  in  the  peep 
f  sky.  Some  were  brighter,  some  more  dim; 
<  ie  twinkled,  one  burned  with  a  steady  glow. 
v  •}'  varied  in  colour,  too.  He  had  had  no  idea 

-i,  even  through  such  a  miserable  hole,  the  heavens 
r  a  pageant  to  offer  of  such  absorbing  interest. 
\-.  1  the  passing  of  this  pageant  gave  him  a  com- 
b  .ing  sense  of  the  flow  of  night  towards  morn. 

Once  Sidonia  woke  with  a  start  and  a  cry. 

"I  am  here,"  he  quickly  said. 

She  reared  herself  from  his  arm.  It  was  numbed 
to  uselessness ;  he  caught  her  with  the  other  fiercely. 
That  pit,  gaping  so  close  by  in  the  night,  had  come, 
during  the  long  hours,  to  be  to  him  as  an  unknown 
monster,  watching,  waiting  for  its  prey.  She,  but 
half  awake,  gropingly  passed  her  soft  hands  over 
his  face  and  breast.  "I  dreamed  you  had  fallen," 
she  murmured.  And  then,  so  secure  in  his  hold, 
stretched  herself  like  a  weary  child,  and  slid  a  little 
further  from  him  so  that  her  head  rested  on  his 
knee. 

His  eyes  had  grown  more  accustomed  to  the 
darkness;  or,  perhaps,  there  was  already  a  raising 
of  the  deepest  veils  of  night,  for  he  could  almost 
distinguish  her  form  as  she  lay.  He  bent  over  her. 


1 78  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

She  was  speaking  dreamily:  "When  you  were  hurt 
in  the  forest,  this  was  how  your  head  rested  on 
my  lap."  In  another  moment  she  was  asleep  again. 
His  arms  were  free  —  the  sense  of  constraint 
was  gone.  And  now  the  time  went  by  almost  as 
quickly  as  before  it  had  lagged.  He  saw  with  sur- 
prise that  the  stars  were  extinguished,  that  his 
patch  of  sky  had  grown  pearl-grey.  Rapid  stirrings 
in  the  leafage  without  spoke  of  an  awakening  world. 
A  bird  piped.  The  walls  of  their  prison  began  to 
take  shape.  .  .  .  He  saw  the  white  glimmer  of 
her  hand  in  the  folds  of  the  cloak.  .  .  .  And  then 
he  must,  after  all,  have  slept  at  his  post ;  for  the  next 
thing  he  knew  was  coming  to  himself,  with  a  great 
spasm  and  seeing,  in  a  shaft  of  yellow  sunlight, 
grey  rock,  brown  earth,  and  Sidonia's  golden  head 
upon  his  knee.  And,  but  a  yard  from  her  little 
sandalled  foot,  the  horrible  black  chasm.  Oh, 
shame !  he  had  slept,  and  death  lurking  for  her ! 

The  sweat  started  on  his  forehead. 

***** 

A  sigh  of  music  was  blown  into  the  cavern.  Sido- 
nia  turned  her  head  and  gazed  up  in  his  face  with 
wide,  bewildered  eyes. 

"It  is  Geiger-Hans,"  she  murmured,  and  rubbed 
her  eyes,  as  though  she  thought  she  were  still  dream- 


The  Oubliette  179 

ing.  Then  she  sat  up,  looked  round,  and  memory 
leaped  back.  She  smiled,  yawned,  and  drew  her- 
self together.  "Well,"  she  said,  with  a  sidelong 
glance  at  the  pit-mouth,  "we  have  had  luck,  you 
and  I !  Don't  you  want  to  get  out  of  this,  Herr 
von  Kielmansegg  ? "  she  asked  briskly,  as  he  sat 
wondering  at  her.  "Or  do  you  think  it  would  be 
a  nice  place  to  turn  hermit  in?  See,  this  is  the  way," 
said  she,  and  pointed  to  a  narrow  and  most  insecure 
ledge  skirting  the  deep;  "we  shall  have  to  crawl 
on  hands  and  knees.  And,  sir,  I  think  our  cloaks 
must  be  sacrificed." 

As  she  spoke,  she  gathered  them  together  and 
pushed  them  from  her.  They  rolled  down,  and 
Steven  almost  called  aloud  as  he  heard  their  heavy 
plunge  into  the  ambushed  waters:  it  sounded  as 
if  some  living  thing  had  gone  to  its  death. 

"I  will  lead,"  said  she. 

Sunshine,  sky,  grass,  wide  airs  !  Till  that  moment 
Steven  had  never  known  what  these  things  could 
mean  to  man.  He  sat  on  a  sun-warmed  rock  by 
the  side  of  the  precipitous,  all  but  obliterated  path- 
way that  led  zigzag  upwards  to  the  broken  rampart. 
Sidonia  stood  shaking  and  pruning  herself  like  a 
bird,  her  hair  glinting  in  the  light.  By  tacit  consent 
both  paused  upon  this  moment  of  physical  relief 


i8o  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

before  considering  their  next  course.  From  above, 
the  plaintive  strain  they  had  heard  within  their 
prison  was  again  borne  down  towards  them  on  the 
breeze.  Sidonia's  fingers,  busy  in  her  tresses, 
stopped.  She  bent  her  ear. 

"It  is  Geiger-Hans.  And  that  is  my  tune.  He 
is  seeking  me ! " 

She  curved  her  hands  round  her  mouth  and  gave 
a  long  mountain  cry.  It  rang  clear  and  sweet, 
cleaving  the  pure  morning  air  like  the  call  of  a  bird. 
Instantly  the  restless  melody  stopped;  and,  as  they 
stood  looking  up  in  expectation,  they  saw  the  figure 
of  Geiger-Hans  emerge  on  the  rocks  over  their 
heads.  Holding  his  fiddle  high  in  the  air,  he  came 
clambering  down  to  them  with  the  agility  of  a  goat. 

"Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed,  as,  breathless, 
he  drew  near.  "Cruel  children,  what  a  fright  you 
have  given  me !" 

His  cheek  was  pale  under  its  bronze.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  its  severity,  his  haggard  eye  was  quick 
to  note  that  these  two  were  torn  and  dishevelled, 
that  their  smiles  had  the  pallor  which  has  faced 
death. 

"What  has  happened?"  cried  he,  in  changed 
accents. 

Sidonia    broke    into    passionate    complaint.    A 


Steven  a/most  called  aloud  as  he  heard  their  heavy  plunge  into  the 
ambushed  waters:  it  sounded  as  if  some  living  tiling  had  gone  to  its 
death. 


The  Oubliette  181 

great  lassitude  was  upon  Steven ;  he  did  not  wish  to 
stir  or  speak;  he  listened  in  silence,  as  she  poured 
forth  the  story  tersely,  yet  with  the  vividness  of  her 
passion. 

"And  it  was  Uncle  Ludo  did  it!"  she  ended, 
with  a  fresh  gust  of  anger.  "We  heard  him  laugh 
as  we  fell.  And  Count  Kielmansegg  his  guest!" 
Her  pride  could  not  stomach  the  thought;  it  was 
less  to  her,  evidently,  that  her  relative  should  have 
endeavoured  to  compass  the  death  of  wife  as  well 
as  guest,  for  her  anger  dropped  into  mere  shud- 
dering pity  as  she  added:  "Poor  Aunt  Betty  !  Just 
think,  if  she  had  not  sent  me!" 

Many  expressions  passed  over  Geiger-Hans'  coun- 
tenance as  the  drama  unrolled  itself  before  his  quick 
mental  vision.  Thunder  of  anger,  clouds  of  fear 
and  doubt,  tender  admiration.  He  shot  one  light- 
ning glance  of  inquiry  at  Steven;  his  brow  cleared 
before  the  frank  answering  look. 

As  the  girl  finished,  the  two  men  sought  silent 
intercourse  with  each  other.  The  eyes  of  both  had 
grown  soft.  For  herself,  the  little  fearless  creature 
still  had  no  thought,  far  less  words. 

"Well,  friends,"  said  the  fiddler  at  last,  sitting 
down  on  the  slope  and  wiping  his  forehead  with 
his  sleeve,  "you  may  flatter  yourselves  that  you've 


1 82  "ff  Youth  but  Knew!" 

given  me  no  better  night  than  your  own.  First, 
Sir  Count,  having  a  word  to  say  to  you,  I  made  so 
bold  as  to  take  a  seat  in  your  carriage,  as  it  waited 
down  yonder.  A  moist  time  I  had  of  it,  in  com- 
pany with  your  lordship's  horses  and  postilion. 
(By  the  way,  this  same  postilion  hath  a  varied 
choice  of  oaths.)  Towards  the  small  hours  our  re- 
lations became  strained,  and  we  parted ;  he  back 
to  the  Silver  Stork,  and  I  —  I  will  not  conceal  it  — 
to  wandering  once  more  in  the  purlieus  of  this  hos- 
pitable strong- house.  For,  although  nothing  was 
more  natural  than  that  a  guest  should  have  altered 
his  intention  of  departing  at  the  last  moment,  my 
mind  misgave  me." 

"Poor  Geiger-Onkel!"  said  Sidonia.  "How  wet 
you  must  be !" 

"Nay,  the  night  had  turned  fine  then;  it  was  the 
least  of  my  hardships.  But  at  dawn  this  restless 
spirit  of  mine  set  me  to  rousing  the  castle  —  and  a 
fine  time  of  it  I  have  given  them !  His  Excellency, 
however,  was  found  dead  drunk  in  his  hall,  so  that 
I  could  get  little  out  of  him.  The  lady  is  convinced 
that  you,  comrade,  have  eloped  with  her  niece,  by 
some  devious  road " 

"Devious  enough,"  said  Steven,  with  a  short 
laugh. 


The  Oubliette  183 

But  Sidonia  had  become  grave.  "I  am  glad,  at 
least,  that  he  was  drunk,"  she  said,  with  judicial  air. 

"I  left  my  Lady  Burgravine  planning  hysterics. 
But  I  have  given  orders  in  the  household,  as  if  I 
were  master  of  all.  No  flogging  of  Geiger-Hans 
now,  nor  setting  of  dogs  upon  him !  'Tis  I  com- 
mand this  morning.  I  have  marshalled  his  Excel- 
lency's servants:  there  are  some  half-dozen  fellows 
searching  the  rocks  already.  And  here,  by  the  way, 
comes  one  bright  youth.  Observe  how  he  looks 
under  the  brambles  and  the  bushes.  He  will  not 
leave  a  mouse-hole  unprodded  for  your  corpses." 

"Shall  we  not  bid  him  get  breakfast  for  us  all?" 
cried  Sidonia,  gaily.  "'Tis  the  least  Wellenshausen 
can  do  for  you  this  morning,  Herr  Graf !" 

She  sprang  upwards  lightly,  her  small  face,  wan 
with  fatigue,  laughing  back  at  them  over  her 
shoulder.  The  fiddler  and  Steven  stood  side  by 
side  watching  her. 

"Well,"  said  the  former,  after  a  pause,  "are  you 
inclined  to  go  and  break  bread  again  in  the  house 
whose  stones  plotted  your  death  ?  Or  will  you  take 
the  safe  way  down  the  mountain  to  the  cushions  of 
your  berline,  and  cry:  'Drive  on,  postilion'?" 

Steven  regarded  the  speaker  a  moment  or  two 
before  replying.  It  seemed  to  the  young  man  as  if 


1 84  "If  Youth  but  Knew'" 

that  long,  black  night  had  cut  him  off  from  his  own 
purblind  youth.  He  felt  himself  years  older, 
weighted  with  life. 

"I  am  going  back  to  the  Burg,"  he  said,  and  set 
off  climbing. 

"Hey,  comrade,  hey,  what  haste?"  panted  the 
other  at  his  ear.  "What  is  your  purpose  up  there? 
You've  been  there  once  too  often."  There  was  a 
certain  anxiety  under  the  speaker's  mocking  air. 

"My  purpose "  began  Steven,  coldly.  He 

was  about  to  add,  "concerns  you  not,"  but  on 
second  thought  he  wheeled  round,  and  all  that  had 
been  gathering  in  his  heart  this  night  escaped  in 
words  of  fire.  "Why  do  you  ask?"  he  cried. 
"You  know!  What!  are  you  the  man  to  whom 
the  souls  of  others  lie  bare?  Are  you  a  man  like 
myself,  and  do  you  think  I  can  leave  that  child 
now?  With  her  little  hand  she  held  me  from  death. 
She  lay  in  my  arms  and  slept  and  trusted  me.  Do 
you  think  I  could  endure  myself  if  I  thought  I  had 
left  her  unprotected  here?  If  I  give  my  whole  life 
to  the  mere  guardianship  of  her,  shall  I  do  more 
than  my  duty?  Man!"  cried  Steven,  catching  the 
fiddler's  sunburnt  wrist  and  shaking  him,  "I  tell  you, 
the  child  lay  in  my  arms  all  night." 

"She  is  indeed  a  child,"  said  the  musician,  quietly. 


The  Oubliette  185 

"And  it  is  even  for  that!"  exclaimed  Steven. 
"Oh,  I  thought  you  would  have  understood!" 

"Let  us  go  up  to  the  heights,  then,"  said  the  fiddler. 

"What,  no  music?"  cried  Sidonia,  gaily,  as  she 
watched  them  coming,  from  the  doorstep.  "I  ex- 
pected to  hear  your  fiddle  chanting  the  song  of 
delivery!" 

"I  have  enough  music  in  my  soul  this  morning," 
replied  the  wanderer. 

*  #  *  *  * 

The  Burgrave  was  a  sorry  spectacle.  A  man 
may  play  the  mediaeval  avenger  overnight,  but  in 
the  morning  he  belongs  to  his  own  age  and  the 
sense  of  proportion  reasserts  itself.  The  Burgrave's 
awakening  to  sobriety,  his  realization  of  his  own 
deed,  were  depressing  to  the  direst  degree.  Para- 
doxically, no  less  terrible  was  the  discovery  that  his 
suspicions  had  been  unfounded;  that  his  wife  was 
both  virtuous  and  still  of  the  living ;  that  it  was  an 
innocent  niece  and  an  innocent  guest  whom  he  had 
precipitated  to  an  awful  doom.  He  almost  betrayed 
himself  on  meeting  the  Burgravine. 

"It  was  Sidonia,  then  —  it  was  not  you,  the  youth 
was  after,  all  the  time!"  he  exclaimed,  bewildered. 

"Me?  After  me?"  cried  the  lady,  in  a  virtuous 
fury.  "How  dared  you  think  such  a  thing!" 


1 86  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

She  paused,  panting,  to  measure  the  whole  hu- 
miliation of  her  position. 

Sidonia  was  gone  —  gone  with  the  pretty  Austrian 
boy  whom  she,  Betty,  had  so  determinedly  marked 
as  her  own.  It  was  an  infamous  trick,  and  for 
Sidonia  to  play  it  ...  Sidonia !  Bah !  She,  who 
knew  herself  so  well,  should  not  have  placed  faith 
in  any  woman. 

"The  minx  was  in  love  with  him  all  the  time," 
she  babbled,  "and  he  —  he,  oh,  he  well  knew,  no 
doubt,  that  no  richer  heiress  would  ever  pass  his 
way !  I  trust,  Herr  von  Wellenshausen,  that  you 
have  sent  widely  in  pursuit."  Her  mind  was  work- 
ing at  a  tremendous  rate.  "You  have  not  let  your- 
self be  taken  in  by  this  cunning  wretch's  story  - 
Geiger-Hans,  or  whatever  his  name  is?  Oh,  I  can 
tell  you  something  of  him,  sir.  There's  an  intriguer 
for  you,  and  in  Kielmansegg's  confidence  from  the 
beginning !  God  alone  knows  what  infamous  bar- 
gains they  may  have  made  together !  It  has  all  been 
a  plot." 

The  Burgrave  stood  looking  at  her,  an  abject 
mass  of  bilious  misery. 

"I  am  afraid  there  may  have  been  an  accident," 
he  murmured,  moistening  his  dry  lips. 

"Accident?"   screamed   she,  and  withered   him. 


The  Oubliette  187 

"You  fool!"  Then  she  turned  on  him,  snarling 
like  an  angry  little  cat.  "It  is  all  your  fault !  Why 
did  you  ask  him  back  here,  to  spy  and  pry?  Yes, 
if  the  girl  has  disgraced  us,  it  is  your  fault  —  the 
fault  of  your  evil  mind !  You  drove  them  to  elope, 
old  jealous  fool!" 

The  Burgrave  clenched  his  hands  and  shook  them 
above  his  head,  fell  into  a  chair,  and  wept  aloud. 
Elope  ?  If  she  but  knew !  Alack,  poor  Sidonia ! 
Poor  little  Sidonia !  He  had  always  loved  the 
child. 

"I  trust  you  will  come  to  soberness  presently," 
said  Betty,  with  a  disgusted  look  at  the  row  of 
empty  bottles. 

And  it  was  at  this  moment  that  shouts  from  the 
courtyard  proclaimed  the  return  of  the  lost  ones. 

The  Burgrave's  ecstasy  of  relief,  when  he  heard 
that  his  oubliette,  had  miscarried,  could  only  be 
measured  by  his  previous  state  of  misery.  He 
could  have  leaped  and  sung.  He  caught  his  wife 
to  his  breast  with  fresh  tears.  Repulsed  with 
scorn,  he  tottered  forth  to  the  great  hall,  still  reeling 
in  his  joy,  to  meet  the  two  so  miraculously  preserved 
and  restored. 

The  girl  faced  him,  severe  as  a  young  Daniel, 
with  pointed  finger  and  flashing  eye. 


1 88  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

"You  weep  now,  uncle:  you  laughed  last  night! 
That  was  your  farewell  to  us;  you  laughed  as  you 
tumbled  us  down  the  oubliette!" 

The  Burgrave  had  stepped  back,  dismayed  afresh. 
She  knew,  then,  that  no  mere  accident  had  betrayed 
them !  The  wretched  lord  of  the  castle  flung  a  look 
around ;  met  the  eyes  of  Steven,  scornful  —  he 
knew !  Met  the  fiddler's  eyes,  horribly  mocking  — 
he  knew !  Met  his  Betty's  gaze,  deeply  suspicious. 
In  a  moment  she,  too,  would  know! 

Out  rang  Sidonia's  clarion  tongue.  And  then 
the  Burgravine  did  know. 

Promptly  he  was  delivered  into  her  hands.  She 
threatened  him  with  King  and  Emperor,  with 
family  and  justice,  prison,  madhouse,  duel.  The 
Emperor  had  put  divorce  in  fashion,  she  reminded 
her  lord.  She  would  divorce  him,  resoundingly ! 
The  last  taunt  was  —  since,  after  all,  he  loved  her 
in  his  own  fashion  —  the  blow  that  hit  him  hardest. 

Natheless,  even  under  the  shock  of  the  discovery 
that  her  own  precious  life  had  been  in  danger,  and 
her  husband  (Bluebeard  too  well  named !)  had  been 
her  would-be  murderer,  her  wits  did  not  desert  her. 

She  intercepted  the  gaze  wherewith  Steven  fol- 
lowed Sidonia,  and  was  quick  to  feel  that  for  her- 
self he  had  now  scarce  a  thought;  nay,  that  she 


The  Oubliette  189 

but  represented  to  him  three  days  of  intense  dis- 
comfort and  a  disagreeable  episode  ending  in  death- 
peril.  She  must  not  act  in  a  hurry.  She  must 
play  what  cards  she  had  left  in  her  hand  to  best  pur- 
pose. She  had  a  vision  of  a  tamed  Bluebeard  —  and 
compensation;  her  turn  yet  to  come  in  gay  Cassel. 

"Herr  Graf,"  said  the  Burgrave,  not  without 
some  kind  of  dignity,  though  tears  still  swam  in 
the  pale,  swollen  eyes,  and  his  great  hands  trembled, 
a  pathetic  spectacle,  "I  stand  at  your  mercy.  I  have 
absolutely  no  excuse  to  offer  you." 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  Steven,  "what  misfortune 
Wellenshausen  brought  on  me,  Wellenshausen  has 
repaired.  Whenever  I  think,"  he  added,  and  raised 
Sidonia's  hand  to  kiss  it,  "of  the  night  when  you 
planned,  and  well-nigh  encompassed,  my  death,  I 
will  also  remember  that  to  the  courage  of  a  daughter 
of  this  same  house  I  owe  my  life.  Before  I  take 
leave  of  your  hospitable  door"  (he  was  too  young 
to  refrain  from  the  gibe),  "may  I  crave  a  few  words 
in  private?" 

The  Chancellor  bowed.  Steven  pressed  Sidonia's 
hand  and  followed  his  host  as  he  shambled  across 
the  hall. 

Had  any  one  told  the  young  man  on  the  previous 
day  that  he  would  be  willing  —  nay,  anxious  —  to 


190  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

bind  himself  for  all  the  years  of  his  life  to  the  little 
sunburnt  Sidonia,  he  would  have  thought  the  ab- 
surdity scarce  worth  a  laugh.  And  yet,  here  he 
was,  a  suitor  for  her  hand.  Her  guardian  dared 
not  refuse  her  to  him,  even  if  a  Count  Waldorff- 
Kielmansegg  had  not  been  a  match  such  as  hardly 
could  be  found  for  her  twice  in  a  lifetime.  He  was 
bent  on  his  purpose  with  all  the  obstinacy  of  a 
nature  somewhat  slow  to  move,  but  firmly  set  once 
a  resolution  taken.  It  was  perhaps  hardly  love  so 
much  that  urged  him  as  a  kind  of  passionate  chivalry. 
He  had  expressed  the  state  of  affairs  very  accurately 
to  Geiger-Hans.  He  had  guarded  her  in  his  arms  a 
whole  night;  now  he  felt  driven  by  all  his  manli- 
ness to  guard  her  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  Yet,  with 
all  this  sentimental  fervour,  there  was  mixed  a 
shrewd  common-sense.  In  race  she  was  his  equal. 
She  had  good  blood  in  her  veins;  and,  by  heaven, 
the  little  creature  had  shown  it !  Her  courage  and 
pride  appealed  to  his  innermost  fastidiousness  of 
breeding.  And,  child  as  she  was,  wild  creature, 
free  of  the  wood,  sisterly  with  the  people  of  the  soil, 
he  had  the  intuition  that  she  would  bear  her  new 
honours  not  only  loyally,  but  royally.  To  her  for- 
tune he  actually  gave  not  a  thought.  Once  or 
twice,  in  his  hearing,  she  had  been  mentioned  as 


The  Oubliette  191 

a  great  heiress,  but  the  statement  had  made  no 
impression.  With  all  his  faults,  Steven  was  nothing 
so  little  as  mercenary  —  rare  enough  a  virtue  with 
the  rich  man,  even  in  youth. 

With  his  blood-red  stare  fixed  upon  him,  the  Bur- 
grave  was  uncomfortably  and  confusedly  revolving 
certain  questions  connected  with  his  ward's  for- 
tune. He  had  his  own  reasons  for  preferring  to 
keep  Sidonia  unmarried  for  some  years  to  come. 
But  circumstances  had  passed  out  of  his  control. 
He  could  have  but  one  answer  for  the  curt,  haughty, 
well-nigh  insolent  demand : 

"Wellenshausen  was  honoured  —  they  were 
honoured,  honoured " 

"With  the  briefest  possible  delay!"  supple- 
mented the  lordly  youth. 

And  again  the  Burgrave  bowed  acquiescence ;  for 
there  was  a  threat  in  Steven's  eye,  merciless  to  any 
hesitation. 

"Of  course,"  cried  Wellenshausen,  suddenly 
catching  at  a  straw,  "this  is  subject  to  my  niece's 
consent." 

A  faint  smile  came  to  Steven's  lips;  not  fatuous, 
but  mightily  confident. 

"That,  your  Excellency,  is  a  matter  between  her 
and  me,"  he  said. 


192  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

The  other  glowered.  This  smacked  of  England, 
and  he  disliked  English  customs.  But,  again,  his 
helplessness  overcame  him.  With  a  turn  of  the 
head,  scarcely  a  bow,  Steven  then  withdrew.  His 
host,  lately  so  arrogant,  looked  after  him,  gnashing 
his  teeth,  helpless  and  furious  in  his  humiliation. 
The  wooer  had  not  approached  the  subject  of  the 
girl's  portion,  even  when  he  had  mentioned  his  own 
lordly  rentals;  an  omission  so  strange  that  it  but 
added  to  the  Burgrave's  general  sense  of  discomfiture. 


5*' 


Sidonia  stood,  shaking  and  pruning   herself  like  a  bird,    her  hair 
glinting  in  the  light. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LOVE   AMONG   THE   RUINS 

«  Well—  if  I  bide,  lo !     This  wild  flower  for  me ! " 
{Lancelot  and  Elaine}. 

IT  was  a  glorious  day,  after  a  night  of  rain ;  and 
a  blazing  sun  poured  its  rays  down  upon  the  rocks. 
Some  instinct  led  Steven  (he  was  perhaps  already 
more  of  a  lover  than  he  believed)  to  the  place  where 
Sidonia  sat,  a  ledge  on  the  steep  grassy  slope  which 
lay  just  outside  the  bramble- hidden  opening  of  the 
cave  —  the  cave  that  had  yielded  them  back,  in  the 
dawn,  to  a  new  life. 

She  was  alone,  seated  under  the  wall,  in  a  child- 
like attitude,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  wrapt,  it  seemed, 
in  profound  cogitation.  The  sunshine  brought  a 
golden  fire  about  her  uncovered  hair.  Steven  flung 
himself  beside  her.  She  did  not  move  her  head, 
merely  turned  her  grave  eyes  upon  him;  and,  for 
a  while,  there  was  silence  between  them. 

The  air  was  full  of  the  humming  of  busy  insects, 
sweet  with  the  spices  of  the  thousand  thymy  herbs 
o  i93 


194  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

that  flourished  in  the  dry,  rocky  soil.  Above  them 
the  ruinous  wing  of  the  castle  towered  into  the 
nebulous  blue.  Below,  far  away,  the  brown  roofs 
of  the  village  lay  in  shadow.  Faint  cries  rose  up 
from  it;  and  from  some  unseen  pasture,  the  tinkle 
of  cow-bells  —  dim  little  sound,  homely,  yet  so 
strangely  in  harmony  with  the  solitudes  of  nature. 
The  calls  of  the  mountain  birds  came  fitfully;  and 
underlying  all  was  the  distant  roar  of  the  torrent 
seeking  its  issue  far  away  from  the  secret  well. 
Sidonia  spoke  at  last. 

"You  have  finished  with  them  all,  up  there?" 
she  asked. 

"With  them  all,  up  there;  yes,"  he  answered 
her;  and  a  joyousness  was  upon  him,  for  which  he 
could  have  given  no  reasons.  It  was  born,  per- 
haps, of  his  sudden  entrance  into  the  power  of 
manhood  —  for  protection,  for  conquest,  for  owner- 
ship. She,  however,  saw  nothing  of  the  flash  in 
his  eye,  of  the  eager  trembling  of  his  lip. 

"You  could  have  Uncle  Ludo  put  in  prison,  of 
course,  but  you  will  not  do  that.  And  that  is  the 
worst  punishment  of  all.  You  leave  him  just  with 
contempt.  —  It  is  a  great  humiliation  for  Wellens- 
hausen !"  she  said. 

For  some  moments  he  made  no  answer.     He  was 


Love  among  the  Ruins  195 

considering  with  pleasure  the  delicate  ear  under  the 
waving  sweep  of  hair,  the  colour,  weight  and  length 
of  the  plaits  that,  divided,  hung  on  either  side  of 
her  neck  and  tipped  the  ground.  He  was  noticing 
the  shape  of  the  nails  in  the  slight  brown  hands, 
the  shadow  of  the  eyelashes  on  the  cheek,  the  arch 
of  the  foot,  the  slender  beauty  of  which  even  the 
country  shoe  could  not  conceal.  How  blind  he  had 
been  on  their  first  meeting !  Geiger-Hans  had,  in- 
deed, been  justified  in  chiding  him.  .  .  .  "She?  a 
peasant  girl !  Then  you  never  looked  at  her  feet, 
nor  at  her  delicate  eyebrow.  It  is  a  noble  child!" 

Those  eyes  of  hers  that  he  had,  even  at  their  first 
meeting,  compared  to  a  mountain  stream  in  their 
depth,  their  varying  colour,  were  still  fixed  with 
gravity  upon  him. 

"You  looked  for  me  to  say  good-bye?"  she  said 
simply. 

"No,"  said  Steven. 

He  drew  himself  a  little  closer  to  her,  as  he  lay 
his  length  on  the  ground.  The  scent  of  the  crushed 
weeds,  the  small  aromatic  nameless  growths  be- 
neath him,  sprang  to  his  nostrils.  He  propped  him- 
self on  his  elbows  and  leaned  his  chin  on  his  clasped 
hands,  returning  her  gaze  masterfully. 

"Mademoiselle  Sidonia,  it  is  true  that  I  am  going 


196  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

soon,  but  I  do  not  mean  to  go  away  alone.  I  have 
told  your  uncle  how  unfit  I  consider  him  to  be  your 
guardian.  He  cannot  dispute  the  point  with  me, 
and  he  has  owned  that  you  ought  to  have  another. 
Will  you  trust  me  to  take  care  of  you?"  The 
eyes  fixed  upon  him  widened,  questioning,  innocent, 
yet  profound.  "I  should  call  you  my  wife,"  he  went 
on  in  a  low  voice,  all  astonished  himself  that  his 
heart  should  suddenly  beat  so  fast.  Her  glance 
never  wavered,  but  he  could  see  the  scarlet  dye  her 
cheek.  "Sidonia,  will  you  come  with  me?"  he 
cried.  And  now  he  was  on  his  knees,  quite  close 
to  her. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  she  replied. 

Her  child  eyes  were  still  upon  him  and  seemed 
to  ask  for  something  yet.  And  at  this,  he  bent  and 
kissed  her,  gently,  as  he  would  have  kissed  a  child, 
and  did  not  guess  that,  at  the  touch  of  his  lips, 
Sidonia's  woman's  soul  was  born. 

The  autumn  month  was  kind  to  the  short,  be- 
wildering time  of  Steven  and  Sidonia's  betrothal, 
and  gave  them,  day  after  day,  a  fair  sky  and  joyous 
sunshine. 

It  was  something  of  a  strange  business.  Steven 
ascended  the  crag  at  least  twice  in  the  twelve  hours 


Love  among  the  Ruins  197 

to  meet  his  little  bride,  up  in  the  blue,  among  the 
rocks  or  the  ruins.  He  had  decided  not  to  break 
bread  again  with  the  Burgrave,  not  even  to  enter 
the  Burg  until  the  wedding  morning;  and  Sidonia 
approved  this  stern  decision.  And  so  their  wooing 
had  for  its  setting  the  barren  crags,  the  scanty 
verdure,  the  keen  airs  of  Wellenshausen  heights; 
its  only  witnesses  the  great  ravens,  and  occasionally 
some  soaring  hawk,  cruising  watchful  and  keen, 
pirate  of  the  high  seas  of  blue.  Thus  Sidonia  be- 
came associated  in  Steven's  mind  with  the  pungent 
scents  of  all  mountain  herbs,  the  briskness  of  all 
mountain  breezes.  He  could  have  sworn  that  about 
her  small  person  itself  there  was  a  myrtle  fragrance. 
Her  presence  became  as  grateful  as  the  wild 
nature  about  him,  and  made  as  few  demands  upon 
him.  Of  love-making,  in  the  accepted  sense,  there 
was  none  between  them.  He  touched  her  still  as 
reverently  as  he  had  touched  the  sleeper  in  the 
oubliette.  He  could  not  disabuse  himself  of  the 
feeling  that  she  was  under  his  protection;  that  he 
must  guard  her,  innocent,  confident,  maiden,  sprite, 
child ;  guard  her  even  from  himself,  from  his  man's 
knowledge,  his  man's  power.  It  was  instinct,  not 
calculation,  that  kept  him  within  such  idyllic  bounds. 
But,  as  it  was,  he  felt  mightily  pleased  with  himself 


198  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

and  consequently  with  her.  Through  some  vein  of 
idealism  —  richest  treasure  of  youth  as  yet  un- 
realized —  his  whole  nature  was  flattered  with  the 
sense  of  his  own  chivalry,  with  the  delicacy  of  the 
poem.  Never  for  an  instant  did  he  repent  his  im- 
pulsive bargain. 

So  long  as  there  was  such  content  in  his  eyes, 
there  was  content  deep  and  full  in  Sidonia's  heart. 
Her  confidence  in  him  was  unlimited.  He  had 
asked  her  to  be  his  wife:  therefore  he  loved  her, 
and  his  way  of  love  was  perfect  in  her  mind.  His  part- 
ing and  meeting  kiss  —  often  enough  laid  fugitively 
upon  her  eyelids  —  was  to  her  the  utmost  and 
happiest  expression  of  tenderness. 

So  passed  these  odd,  quiet,  yet  all-important  hours 
of  courtship.  And  then  the  day  came,  eve  of  the 
morrow  when  they  were  to  be  united  up  in  yonder 
bare  stone  chapel  of  the  Burg,  that  was  never  used 
save  for  the  baptism,  the  burial,  or  the  wedding  of 
a  Wellenshausen. 

Again  Sidonia  sat  among  the  rocks  and  the  wild 
herbs,  but  alone:  Steven  was  engaged  in  conclave 
with  the  ruddy-faced  pastor  of  the  hamlet,  who 
was  to  ride  up  on  his  mule  in  the  morning  and 
conduct  the  ceremony.  She  smiled  happily,  as 


Love  among  the  Ruins  199 

she  pictured  the  interview  in  her  mind.  Presently 
she  became  aware  that  she  was  no  longer  by  her- 
self. From  the  black  shadow  of  the  rock,  across 
the  patch  of  sward  opposite  to  her,  eyes  were  watch- 
ing her  from  a  lean,  sharp-featured  face.  She  gave 
a  small,  low  laugh. 

"I  see  you,"  she  said. 

And  Geiger-Hans  came  forward  with  a  kind  of 
leap  from  the  rocky  gloom.  He  sat  cross-legged  in 
the  full  sunshine  before  her,  his  arms  folded.  His 
fiddle  was  slung  at  his  back;  his  garments  were 
powdered  with  dust;  he  looked  tired  and  travel- 
worn,  as  if  he  had  come  from  a  long  distance.  But 
he  was  smiling  at  her. 

"Truly,  it  is  a  curious  thing,"  he  said,  as  if  taking 
up  the  thread  of  some  interrupted  conversation, 
"that  the  first  time  we  ever  met,  little  Mamzell 
Sidonia,  you  addressed  me  in  just  these  very  words." 

"That  must  have  been  very  long  ago,  Onkel," 
said  Sidonia,  "for  I  always  remember  you." 

"Nay,  it  was  an  epoch  to  me.  You  see,  mamzell, 
I  was  not  then  Geiger-Onkel  to  the  country-side, 
the  Geiger-Onkel  whom  the  children  run  up  to, 
whom  the  silly  maids  and  youths  consult,  and  the 
old  wives  like  to  gossip  with  —  the  old,  crazy  fellow, 
who  makes  merry  music  and  does  nobody  any  harm. 


200  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

I  had  black  misery  in  my  heart  in  those  days,  and 
black  misery  on  my  face.  And  I  can  well  believe," 
said  the  fiddler,  after  a  pause,  "that  I  seemed  to 
shed  a  black  curse  about  me  as  I  passed.  I  was  a 
restless  mortal,  and  went  about,  hither,  thither,  at  a 
terrible  pace.  The  people  took  me  for  a  wander- 
ing devil !  And,  upon  my  soul,  I  don't  blame 
them."  He  gave  a  laugh,  and  the  sound  of  it  hurt 
Sidonia.  She  had  always  known,  of  course,  that  it 
was  some  fearful  sorrow  that  had  driven  her  old 
friend  to  his  life  of  wandering. 

"Oh,  poor  Geiger-Onkel!"  she  cried;  the  caress 
of  her  eyes  was  infinitely  soft. 

"Yes,  the  women  crossed  themselves  when  they 
saw  me!"  He  laughed  again.  "The  men  jeered 
—  the  children  ran  screaming  from  my  path.  .  .  . 
That  day  when  I  saw  you  first,  mamzell,  I  was  tired 
and  angry.  A  stone  had  been  flung  at  me  and 
caught  me  on  the  ankle,  and  I  went  lame.  The  day 
was  very  hot;  I  had  been  a  long  way;  I  could  go 
no  further,  and  I  was  hungry.  I  sat  outside  the 
forest-house,  waiting  to  ask  for  a  crust.  I  had  heard 
you  laughing  and  calling  behind  the  garden  hedges, 
and  I  was  afraid  of  frightening  you.  .  .  .  Aye, 
it  was  weary  work,  going  through  the  world  making 
the  children  cry !  I  knew  that,  when  the  sun  sank, 


Love  among  the  Ruins  201 

somebody  would  put  you  to  bed.  'And  then  I 
shall  knock,'  I  said  to  myself.  .  .  .  But,  all  at  once, 
little  Mamzell  Sidonia,  as  I  sat,  oh,  so  glum,  so 
black-hearted,  so  forlorn  a  wretch,  I  heard  you  call 
me.  You  had  popped  your  head  out  of  the  garden 
gate,  and  were  peeping  at  me,  gurgling  with  laughter. 
'I  see  you,'  you  said."  His  voice  broke.  He 
twisted  himself  and  lay  out-stretched,  supporting 
himself  on  one  arm,  his  face  turned  towards  the 
ground,  idly  picking  at  the  small  herbs.  "Your 
little  head  was  all  over  golden  curls  .  .  .  some  one 
I  had  known  had  hair  of  that  colour  .  .  .  and  you 
looked  at  me,  it  seemed,  with  eyes  I  had  known  also. 
You  were  not  in  the  least  frightened;  you  thought, 
I  believe,  that  I  was  a  very  good  game.  But  to  me, 
to  me,  Mamzell  Sidonia  —  you  see  I  was  even  madder 
then  than  I  am  now  —  you  were  a  something  sent 
to  me  from  one  I  loved  once." 

Sidonia  held  her  breath.  She  did  not  dare 
speak.  This  was  not  the  Geiger-Onkel  she  had 
known.  His  very  voice  was  changed  utterly. 
She  could  not  see  his  face  as  he  lay,  but  instinctively 
she  turned  her  eyes  away  from  the  prone  figure. 

"If  we  had  had  a  child,"  said  the  fiddler,  in  a 
sort  of  whisper, "  she  would  have  looked  like  you  .  .  . 
she  would  have  looked  like  you!" 


202  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

It  seemed  to  Sidonia  that  the  lean  figure  was 
shaken,  and  she  had  a  terror  lest  he  should  be  weep- 
ing. But,  all  at  once,  with  those  singular,  quick 
movements  of  his,  so  startling  to  those  who  did  not 
know  him,  he  was  sitting  once  more  cross-legged; 
and  the  eyes  that  fixed  her  were  dry  and  wildly 
brilliant. 

"Now,  if  only  the  Burgrave  was  here,  and  could 
have  heard  me,"  he  cried,  mocking,  "would  he  not 
be  justified  in  calling  for  those  whips  and  dogs  with 
which  I  have  been  threatened?  The  Baroness 
Sidonia  von  Wellenshausen  compared  with  the 
brat  of  a  crazy  beggarman!" 

Sidonia  exclaimed  indignantly:  "Whips  and 
dogs!  He  would  never  dare!" 

"Well,  hardly  just  now,"  said  the  other,  whim- 
sically. "His  Excellency  will  dare  very  little  for 
some  time  to  come.  Hey,  what  a  game  have  the 
Fates  played  with  him ;  aye,  and  with  us  all,  mam- 
zell,  even  with  me,  who  thought  to  guide  them ! 
But  they  played  my  game  in  the  end,"  he  added, 
edging  a  little  closer  to  her.  "Well,  little  sleeping 
beauty  with  the  golden  hair,  did  I  not  do  well  to 
bring  you  to  your  forest  bower  this  gallant  young 
prince?  You  had  to  be  awakened,  Princesse 
Sidonie  au  bois  dormant;  for  the  end  of  the  spell 


Love  among  the  Ruins  203 

was  near  at  hand.  And  if  you  had  been  awakened 
by  the  wrong  knight?  Heaven  preserve  us,  what  a 
catastrophe !  " 

"Oh,  Geiger-Onkel,  I  am  not  a  child  any  more 
to  be  talked  to  in  fairy  tales.  I  am  going  to  be 
married  to-morrow!"  Then,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone,  the  girl  cried  inconsequently,  "It  is  true, 
you  did  bring  him  to  me.  Perhaps  you're  a  kind 
of  wizard  uncle,  after  all!" 

"Why  —  and  have  you  ever  doubted  it?"  said 
he,  menacing  her  with  his  finger.  "Have  I  not 
watched  you  all  these  years?  When  you  wanted 
me  for  anything  —  for  the  white  doe  that  was  lost, 
or  for  Liserl  in  the  village,  when  she  had  no  news  of 
her  lad,  or  when  Aunt  Hedwige  kept  you  too  close  — 
had  not  you  but  to  wish  for  me?" 

"It  is  true,"  she  pondered,  and  looked  at  him 
doubtfully,  unable  to  make  out  if  he  were  in  jest 
or  in  earnest. 

"And  so,  when  I  met  this  fine  young  Prince 
Errant  on  the  roadway,  I  knew  he  was  meant  for 
you." 

But  suddenly  she  accused  him,  shaking  her  little 
finger  in  mimicry  of  his  own  gesture. 

"But  you  vanished  very  quickly,  the  other  morn- 
ing, after  you  played  us  out  of  the  oubliette,  Geiger- 


204  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Onkel.  And  my  prince  had  to  face  the  wicked 
guardian  all  by  himself,  and  you  were  not  even  there 
to  tell  the  princess  what  she  was  to  say.  You  have 
not  been  near  us  all  these  days." 

"But,  did  you  want  me?"  cried  the  fiddler,  and 
gave  a  screech  of  laughter.  It  rang  harshly.  "Did 
you  want  me?  That  is  the  question." 

She  found  nothing  to  answer.  Truthfully,  she 
had,  these  days,  forgotten  his  very  existence.  He 
chuckled  to  himself,  and  hitched  his  violin  round. 

"Listen,"  said  he,  and  began  to  play  a  dainty 
measure  —  so  exquisitely  tender-gay  a  measure 
that  it  made  Sidonia,  all  in  her  young  happiness, 
feel  quite  sad.  "Listen;  this  is  the  first  tune  you 
ever  danced  to,  little  mamzell.  That  was  how  your 
steps  went,  and  how  you  clapped  your  hands.  .  .  . 
Oh,  I  have  something  better  for  you  still  to  play  to 
you.  .  .  .  But  you  must  wait  for  it.  It  is  the 
song  of  your  bridal  morning!" 

The  sun  fell  full  on  his  face  as  he  played.  How 
weary  he  looked,  how  aged,  how  haunted,  and  yet 
how  gentle  —  poor  Geiger-Hans ! 


CHAPTER    XV 

FURENS   QUID   FEMINA  POSSIT 

"  Et,  dans  leurs  jalousies,  vous  trouverez  toujoun 
Leurs  vanitis  blessees  plutot  que  leurs  amours." 
DESTOUCHES. 

THE  mind  of  Burgravine  Betty  was  a  weather- 
vane,  gilt  and  fantastically  wrought,  that  veered 
in  ever  contrary  directions,  as  blew  the  wind  of  her 
mood.  Of  constant  purposes  she  knew  but  one, 
that  of  her  own  pleasure.  But  what  course  of  action 
would  best  minister  to  this  was  a  matter  of  perpetual 
indecision.  She  had  amused  herself  with  rare 
gusto,  after  months  of  enraging  dulness,  with  the 
handsome  stranger  who  had  so  impertinently  sought 
the  hospitality  of  Wellenshausen.  And  though  a 
sermon  from  that  crazy  person  the  fiddler  —  no 
doubt  a  gentleman  in  masquerade,  or  Betty  was  no 
judge  of  such  point  —  had  left  her  momentarily 
abashed,  sentimental  over  rocking  cradles  and 
wifely  duty  and  such-like  unprofitable  conventions, 
the  next  morning  the  little  shining  vane  was  setting 
205 


206  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

straight  for  the  soft  west  of  dalliance,  and  she  fully 
meant  to  cheat  her  Bluebeard  by  as  complete  an 
affaire  de  cceur  as  circumstances  would  permit. 
Nay,  while  apparently  taking  virtuous  farewell  over 
night  of  the  unexpected  kinsman,  she  had  already 
planned  heaven  knows  what  secret  assignations, 
palpitating  meetings  in  the  shadow  of  the  ruins, 
descents  into  the  forest-land  and  green  picnics  in 
discreet  glades,  yea,  even  excursions  into  the  deepest 
of  the  woods.  But  the  secret  departure  of  the  de- 
generate Kielmansegg  and  the  unwelcome  appearance 
of  a  tactless  husband  had  shattered  these  agreeable 
projects.  And  Betty's  vane  had  flown  to  north 
again:  cold  virtue  in  an  injured  wife,  most  wrong- 
fully suspected.  Next,  by  her  husband's  odious 
tricks  of  suspicion,  thrown  once  again  into  the  com- 
pany of  good  looks  and  young  manhood,  what  a 
succession  of  small  hot  and  cold  breezes  kept  the 
weather-cock  shifting  east,  south-east  and  south, 
back  to  west  again !  Positively  driven  to  elope,  by 
sheer  dread  of  the  fate  of  Desdemona  under  her 
own  cushions,  what  better  choice  could  be  made 
than  this  Steven  von  Waldorff- Kielmansegg  — 
rich,  high-born,  and  so  vastly  personable?  And  in 
Vienna,  these  times,  people  scarcely  could  look 
askance  at  a  divorcee. 


Furens  quid  Femitia  possit  2QJ 

Yet,  a  rainy  night,  and  some  more  of  that  ubiqui- 
tous fantastic  musician's  nonsense,  and  hey  for  a 
new  quarter  of  the  compass  again !  She  could 
scarcely,  however,  regret  the  chill  wind  of  reason 
that  had  shifted  her  purpose  at  the  last  hour  —  a 
night  in  the  oubliette,  even  with  a  charming  com- 
panion, coincided  by  no  means  with  Betty's  ideas  of 
enjoyment.  And  then,  not  having  the  knowledge 
of  the  murderous  locality  acquired  by  that  climbing 
kid  Sidonia,  she  and  Count  Steven  might  well  be 
swirling,  this  sunny  moment,  in  undesired  com- 
radeship under  the  black  waters  of  the  pit.  Betty 
shuddered  in  every  fibre  of  her  ease- loving 
body. 

Now,  during  these  days  of  Sidonia 's  brief  betrothal, 
the  Burgravine  was  in  a  more  than  usually  undecided 
and  dissatisfied  frame  of  mind.  Nevertheless,  her 
mood  pointed  steadily  for  Cassel.  As  a  Bluebeard, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it,  the  Burgrave's  occupa- 
tion was  gone.  He  was  abject  under  his  Betty's 
sandal.  And  Betty's  foot,  for  so  little  a  one,  could 
ctamp  curiously  hard.  Henceforth  the  husband 
who  would  have  compassed  her  murder  had  (the 
Burgravine  fondly  believed)  no  choice  but  to  be  his 
wife's  slave.  Dared  he  but  thwart  the  smallest  of 
her  wishes,  she  knew  well  now  how  to  reduce  him 


208  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

to  obedience.     Cassel  it  was  to  be.     Cassel,  so  soon 
as  this  absurd  wedding  was  over. 

A  very  sulky  shoulder  did  the  Burgravine  turn 
upon  the  whole  ridiculous  affair.  An  errant  squire 
of  dames,  dull,  undiscriminating,  ill-mannered 
youth,  who,  when  a  Betty  was  within  the  same 
horizon,  could  have  the  poor  taste  even  to  look  at  a 
Sidonia;  to  take  up  a  hoyden,  sun- burnt  as  a 
peasant  child,  and  with  as  much  idea  of  the  refine- 
ments of  life  as  the  village  chits  with  whom  she  was 
wont  to  make  so  free !  A  pretty  show  would  she 
make  of  herself  in  Vienna! 

The  Burgravine  had  a  curious  glitter  in  those 
eyes  of  hers,  that  generally  astonished  the  stranger 
by  their  flower- blue  in  her  olive  face;  yet,  withal, 
she  was  full  of  smiles.  Was  it  not  the  wedding-day 
of  the  Baroness  Sidonia,  her  husband's  niece? 

Never  had  the  Burg,  on  its  dominating  height, 
seen  a  bride  go  forth  from  its  "honour  gate"  to 
the  ancestral  chapel  with  so  little  ceremony.  Great 
carouse  had  there  been  at  the  castle  on  similar 
occasion,  loud  ringing  of  joy  bells,  and  belching  of 
powder  smoke  from  the  ramparts,  wide  flaunting 
of  the  old  blue  and  yellow  banner  over  the  belfry. 
High  folk,  thickly  gathered  in  Wellenshausen's 


Furens  quid  Femina  possit  209 

Burg,  had  drunk  deep  on  the  height;  low  folk  in 
Wellenshausen  Dorf,  on  the  plain,  had  vied  success- 
fully with  their  betters.  The  glories  of  the  weddings 
at  Wellenshausen  had  been  retailed  from  father  to 
son.  Yet  this  last  bride  of  the  house,  heiress  as  she 
was  to  most  of  its  honours,  slipped  from  her  chamber 
to  the  altar- steps  with  scarce  the  tinkling  of  the 
chapel- bell  to  mark  her  passage,  and  only  the  cries 
of  one  or  two  village  children,  hot  from  their  scramble 
up  the  crag,  to  acclaim  her,  the  smiles,  tearful, 
motherly  and  portentous,  of  the  forest-mother  to 
brace  her  for  the  great  plunge  into  the  unknown. 
Such  was  the  haste  and  privacy  with  which  the  com- 
pact was  carried  out.  The  imperious  bridegroom 
had  willed  it  so.  Nevertheless,  if  ungraced  by  pomp 
and  unwitnessed  by  honoured  guests,  the  ceremony 
was  impressive  enough  in  the  simplicity  and  earnest- 
ness of  the  two  chiefly  concerned. 

So  thought  the  musician,  who  knelt  hidden,  all 
in  the  dust,  between  the  tomb  of  the  greatest  of 
the  old  Wellenshausens  and  the  chapel  wall.  He  had 
refused  the  post  of  honoured  guest,  the  prominent 
seat  prepared  by  Sidonia  herself,  the  proffer  of 
Steven's  dark  suit  and  purple  stockings. 

"I  shall  be  with  you  all  the  same,  my  children," 
he  had  promised  them.  And  from  his  place  of  con- 


210  "If  Youth  but  Knew!'' 

cealment  nothing  escaped  his  watchful  anxiety. 
It  did  his  heart  good  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  bride- 
groom's face  as  it  was  turned  upon  the  bride.  Never, 
it  seemed  to  him,  had  Sidonia  looked  more  completely 
the  child.  She  went  through  the  ordeal  with  a  blithe 
serenity;  he  knew  that  the  music  he  had  made  for 
her  that  morning,  at  the  misty  dawn,  was  singing 
in  her  heart. 

At  the  sight  of  her  golden  head  under  the  bridal 
veil,  the  vagabond  closed  his  restless  eyes  for  a 
minute.  An  inner  vision  of  poignant  tenderness 
rose  upon  him.  "O  Love,  O  Death,  how  the  wheel 
turns  with  us !" 

To  the  bowing  snuff-coloured  notary  from  Helm- 
stadt,  the  Burgrave  in  his  glittering  Chancellor's 
uniform  was  a  very  awe-inspiring  person :  he  quailed 
under  the  unblinking  gaze  of  His  Excellency, 
beneath  the  jealous  eyebrows.  Far  indeed  was  he 
from  suspecting  that  the  merest  glint  of  the  Bur- 
gravine's  blue  orbs  —  so  youthful,  so  affable  an 
apparition  to  the  dusty  man  of  law — sufficed  to  make 
Wellenshausen,  the  terrible,  quail  in  his  tall  boots. 

Kurtz  the  Jager  whistled  between  his  teeth,  with 
an  impudent  eye  on  the  wedding  procession,  as,  in 
company  with  Mademoiselle  Eliza,  he  beheld  it 
pass  out. 


Furens  quid  Femina  possit  2 1 1 

"It  is  your  mistress  whose  little  game  has  fallen 
through,"  said  he,  tauntingly,  to  the  French  girl. 

"Ah,  no,  par  exemple,"  retorted  she.  "It  is 
your  master,  mon  bel  oiseau,  who  wears  the  fool's 
cap  this  time.  Oh!" — she  clapped  her  sallow 
hands  together  —  "how  we  shall  amuse  ourselves 
at  Cassel!" 

It  could  hardly  be  said  that  the  wedding  repast 
was  a  convivial  event.  Steven  took  upon  himself 
a  great  air  of  condescension  over  this  first  breaking 
of  bread  at  the  table  of  his  would-be  executioner. 
His  politeness  was  something  quite  overpowering. 
The  Burgrave,  after  a  bumper  of  Sillery  to  the  health 
of  the  happy  pair,  essayed  to  carry  matters  with  a 
high-handed  joviality ;  the  effect  of  it,  against  Steven's 
glacial  indulgence,  was  ghastly.  But,  when  bride- 
groom and  bride  conferred  together,  were  it  upon 
the  merest  trifle,  the  irresponsible  youth  and  joy  of 
them  was  not  to  be  hidden.  And  Burgravine  Betty 
watched  with  a  glance  that  grew  ever  more  steely. 

She  had  sat  down  to  the  board  in  a  fairly  good 
humour,  for  her  amber  gown  was  becoming,  and  the 
water  gardens,  the  statued  alleys  of  Gassel  Palace, 
were  growing  into  nearer  perspective.  But  Cousin 
Kielmansegg  positively  treated  her  in  much  the  same 
high-horse  manner  as  he  treated  his  host.  The  most 


212  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

alluring  twists  of  her  shoulder,  the  most  killing 
ogles,  were  received  with  odious  civility ;  nay  — 
and  her  vanity  was  pierced  to  the  core  —  she  actually 
caught  in  him  a  look  of  boredom,  when  he  had 
perforce  to  turn  and  give  his  attention  to  a  delicate 
whisper,  reminiscent  innuendo,  sigh  for  the  might- 
have-been. 

Fury  rose  in  her,  sudden  as  a  mountain  whirl- 
wind. She  gripped  her  wineglass:  the  sweetness 
turned  acid  on  her  lips.  Loud  rang  her  laugh; 
and  the  Burgrave,  glancing  at  her,  felt  a  satisfaction 
in  the  ever-doubtful  growling  depth  of  his  heart  that 
his  Betty  should  be  so  merry  at  her  Beau  Cousin's 
wedding.  But  Sidonia  flung  her  aunt  a  startled  look. 
The  Burgravine  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  peremptory 
gesture : 

"Come  with  me,"  she  said. 

She  was  in  a  prodigious  hurry,  all  at  once,  to  get 
the  new  Countess  Kielmansegg  away  from  the  table 
into  the  privacy  of  her  own  turret  apartment,  osten- 
sibly to  robe  her  for  the  journey.  The  bridegroom 
followed  his  bride  with  a  long  glance ;  noting  which, 
the  Burgravine  tossed  her  head. 

"You  must  have  a  little  patience,"  she  cried  to 
him  insolently.  "She  will  be  ready  in  an  hour." 

Once  alone  with  the  girl,  she  whisked  the  bridal  veil 


Furens  quid  Femina  possit  213 

from  her  head  with  such  feverish  and  ungentle  hands 
that  Sidonia  turned  round  to  look  upon  her  in 
amazement,  only  to  meet  a  positive  glare. 

"Why,  Aunt  Betty!" 

"Why,  Sidonia!  —  forgive,  I  should  say:  Most 
High  Lady  Countess!" 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  cried  Sidonia. 

She  was  never  one  to  take  hostility  in  meekness. 
The  colour  sprang  to  her  cheek. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  What  has 
vexed  you?"  she  insisted. 

"Vexed?  —  I?"  quoth  the  lady.  Here  they  were 
interrupted  by  Eliza,  all  flounce  and  bounce  and 
smile,  with  pink  bows  to  her  apron  and  a  jaunty  new 
cap.  Her  mistress  turned  upon  her  fiercely.  "Get 
out  of  this !  When  you  are  wanted  you  shall  be 
called,"  she  cried.  Then:  "Nay,  my  love,"  she 
proceeded,  once  more  addressing  her  niece,  now  in  a 
biting  tone  of  sweetness  (a  diabolic  inspiration  had 
come  to  her:  if  Satan  can  never  unmake,  he  can  at 
least  mar)  "nay,  wherefore  should  I  be  vexed?  I 
may  be  ashamed  for  my  sex;  I  am  still,  I  must 
confess,  under  the  shock  of  the  recent  scandal, 
which  has  rendered  necessary  this  humiliating 
marriage,  but 

Sidonia  went  white  to  the  lips.     "I  don't  under- 


214  "If  Youth  but  Knew /" 

stand "  she  cried  boldly;  but  there  was  horror 

gathering  in  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  need  to  be  told,  then,"  asked  the  other, 
clapping  her  plump  hands  together  in  exasperation, 
"that  if  a  young  girl  spends  a  night  in  a  cave  alone 
with  a  young  man,  her  reputation  is  not  worth  a  silver 
groat?" 

The  blood  raced  back  to  the  bride's  cheeks. 
"Do  you  taunt  me  for  having  saved  your  life,  Aunt 
Betty  ?  What  say  I  ?  —  saved  your  reputation.  .  .  . 
But  what  does  it  matter;  how  does  this  concern  me 
now?  My  husband  loves  me;  he  has  my  faith." 

The  Burgravine  broke  into  shrill  laughter.  Then, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  tactics,  she  folded  her  niece 
to  her  heart  with  hysterical  tenderness. 

"Nay,  my  poor  lamb,  I  am  wrong!  Go,  go  in 
your  touching  confidence;  I  will  say  no  further 
word.  It  would  be  cruel  to  enlighten  you  a  day 
sooner  than  necessary,  and  - 

"I  think  you're  mad,"  interrupted  the  bride. 
"I  cannot  imagine  what  you  mean."  With  steady 
fingers  she  removed  the  myrtle  wreath  from  her  head, 
then  approached  her  aunt  with  a  countenance 
singularly  altered.  "You  must  explain  yourself, 
Aunt  Betty/'  she  said. 

The    Burgravine    rushed    again    into    passion. 


Furens  quid  Femina  possit  21$ 

"Were  you  the  innocent  you  pretend  to  be,"  retorted 
she,  panting,  "it  would  be  no  kindness  to  let  you 
depart  in  ignorance  of  the  true  state  of  your  affairs. 
But,  for  all  your  baby  pose,  you  cannot  make  me 
believe,  my  love,  that  you  are  blind  to  the  fact  that 
this  poor,  chivalrous  young  man  has  only  wedded 
you,  all  said  and  done,  to  save  your  name,  your 
honour.  A  —  ah,  he  has  vowed,  and  you  believe 
him,  that  he  loves  you?"  (It  is  well  to  lash  oneself 
into  blind  anger  when  it  is  difficult  to  strike  in  cold 
blood.)  "Ten  days  ago,  on  that  very  turret  plat- 
form," she  dramatically  pointed  through  the  window 
to  the  silhouette  of  the  east  tower,  "only  ten  days 
ago  he  held  me  to  his  heart  —  this  devoted  lover  of 
yours  —  and  consecrated  his  life  to  me!" 

"I  do  not  believe  you,"  said  Sidonia,  again.  But 
her  soft,  young  face  seemed  suddenly  turned  to 
marble.  "If  he  loves  you,  what  does  he  want  with 
me?"  The  girl  spoke  slowly.  She  had  been 
shaken,  but  she  was  not  convinced.  "I  don't 
believe  it,  Aunt  Betty,"  she  resumed.  "Nobody 
would  have  said  any  harm  of  me.  Every  one  knows 
me  here!  Wellenshausen,"  cried  the  child,  in 
angry  common-sense,  "is  not  Vienna,  nor  yet 
Cassel!" 

Betty,    who   possessed   the   faculty   of    changing 


2i6  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

her  mind  with  ease,  had  no  bashfulness  at  all  in 
eating  her  own  words  when  occasion  offered.  In- 
deed, so  accommodating  was  her  disposition  that 
she  was  quite  ready  to  believe  her  own  hasty  concoc- 
tions, however  contradictory,  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Shrewish  blew  the  gusts  of  the  jealous  temper. 

"Well,  mon  cceur,  is  it  not  better  to  think  him  an 
excellent  chivalrous  person  than  to  try  and  seek  for 
less  noble  motives  ?  Tis  granted,  isn't  it,  that  since 
he  loved  me  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  loved  me 
to  the  point  of  elopement,  he  could  hardly  be  ready  to 
love  you  very  devotedly  at  eight  the  next  morning  ? 
We  will  not  think  that  my  Bluebeard  dropped  him  a 
hint  of  your  money  bags.  .  .  .  The  situation  was 
delicate,  you  see,  and  if  the  Burgrave,  who  is  fond 
of  you  after  all,  my  dear,  and  who,  no  doubt,  wanted 
to  repair  the  damage  he  had  wrought,  failed  to 
move  the  young  gentleman  by  one  plea,  he  may 
have  succeeded  in  another.  There  are  compensa- 
tions about  you:  that  is  a  fact.  It  was  after  their 
private  conversation,  remember,  my  little  angel,  that 
Beau  Cousin  proposed.  ..." 

Sidonia  set  her  teeth  in  her  trembling  lip.  Every 
word  was  a  dagger  wound  to  pride  and  love  and 
maidenliness.  Then  all  her  loyalty  revolted.  Her 
knight  of  the  forest,  so  base  ?  Never !  And  if  the 


Furens  quid  Femina  possit  217 

Burgravine  was  false  in  the  one  instance,  why  not 
in  all? 

"Aunt  Betty,"  she  said  deliberately,  "this  is  all  a 
He." 

"Fool,"  snapped  Betty.  She  ran  from  the  room 
like  a  fury,  to  return  with  incredible  quickness.  She 
shook  a  crumpled  note  before  the  bride's  eyes,  then 
spread  it  with  frenzied  fingers  upon  the  table. 

"See  here  !  Read  !  read  what  he  writes  to  me  — 
to  me !  Ah,  you  know  his  handwriting  by  this  time ! 
Read,  read !  He  asks  me  to  meet  him  among  the 
ruins.  '  All  will  be  ready ! '  What  does  that  mean, 
think  you  ?  Why,  that  his  coach  was  waiting  ready 
for  us  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  to  whirl  us  two  to  our 
own  land,  to  safety,  to  happiness!" 

The  girl  reeled  and  pressed  her  hands  to  her 
eyes. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  cried  the  other,  pursuing  her 
advantage  mercilessly,  "did  he  ever  blink  at  you, 
I  ask,  before  that  disgraceful  night  in  the  dark? 
And  indeed,  how  could  fine  young  men  such  as  he, 
I  should  like  to  know,  find  anything  to  fall  in  love 
with  in  you,  you  poor  little  country,  weather-beaten 
thing?  No,  my  poor  child,  no,  you  had  best  take  it 
that  he's  just  doing  the  recognized  high-born,  gentle- 
manly thing  by  you ;  but  it  will  do  you  no  harm  to 


218  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

remember  that  it  was  me,  me,  that  he  wanted  to 
take  away  from  Wellenshausen,  not  you!" 

"Then  why  did  you  not  go  —  why  did  you  send 
me  to  him,  with  your  good-bye?"  asked  Sidonia  at 
last,  almost  voiceless. 

"Because  I  was  a  fool,"  exploded  the  Burgravine, 
in  all  the  inconsequence  of  her  envy. 

At  this  particular  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that 
in  her  virtuous  decision  she  had  indeed  missed  the 
opportunity  of  her  life.  And  she  set  her  teeth  upon 
such  savage  accents  of  truth  that,  at  last,  Sidonia 
believed. 

She  took  the  crumpled  bit  of  paper  from  the  table. 
Stunned  amid  the  ruins  of  her  fair  edifice  of  happi- 
ness, she  had  as  yet  hardly  realized  her  aunt's 
position,  even  though  so  shamelessly  trumpeted. 
Now,  with  this  proof  of  Steven's  real  feelings  in  her 
hand,  Betty's  guilt  suddenly  leaped,  hideous,  into 
shape  before  her.  .  .  .  The  Burgravine  von  Wel- 
lenshausen, a  married  woman,  ready  to  break  her 
marriage  vows,  listening  to  words  of  love  from  the 
guest  under  her  husband's  roof!  The  bride  was 
very  innocent,  but  innocence  is  perhaps  the  severest 
judge  of  all.  She  turned  eyes  of  horror  upon  her 
uncle's  wife. 

"It  is  well,"  she  said,  after  a  pause.  "Leave 
me ;  I  must  think  out  what  I  have  to  do." 


Furens  quid  Femina  possit  219 

As  she  spoke  she  thrust  the  note  into  the  bosom  of 
her  bridal  frock. 

To  be  thoroughly  successful  in  revenge  is  always 
slightly  alarming.  So  thought  the  Burgravine  as 
she  closed  the  door  upon  this  unknown,  this  strange 
Sidonia.  But,  having  gone  tooi  far  to  retreat,  spite 
now  resolved  to  reap  the  final  gratification. 


"  SBorum  Sinb  benn  bte  9toSen  «o  btag§  ? 


2Kein  liebeg  SHebdjen, 

O  Sprid),  mein  fyerjatterliebSteS  £ieb, 

SBarum  BerlieSSert  bu  mid)  ?  " 

HEINE. 

STEVEN  and  his  host  sat  opposite  each  other, 
equally  mute.  After  his  spurt  of  hilarity,  the  Bur- 
grave  had  gradually  fallen  into  a  moodiness  fostered 
by  draughts  of  an  alarming  variety  of  wines.  Sunk 
into  himself,  his  heavy  chin  upon  his  chest,  he  glared 
straight  before  him  with  suffused  eyes,  blood-in- 
jected —  a  sodden  mass  of  helpless  resentment. 

Fastidious  Steven,  ever  more  wrapt  in  disdain  and 
aloofness,  had  perforce  to  avert  his  gaze  from  the 
degraded  spectacle.  How  came  such  a  flower  as 
his  Sidonia  grafted  upon  so  coarse  a  stock?  He 
rejoiced,  with  a  glow  of  intimate  self-approbation, 
that  he  was  carrying  her  away  to  fitter  surroundings. 
To  whom  might  they  not  have  wedded  her?  To 

22Q 


'Twixt  Cup  and  Lip  221 

some  sproutling,  no  doubt,  chosen  by  the  Burgrave 
—  by  yonder  sot !  Into  what  brutal  arms  might  they 
not  have  cast  her  —  the  pure  child  of  the  cave 
night  ? 

Something  called  him  from  his  musings:  it  was 
the  measure  of  an  odd  little  tune,  played  half-sour- 
dine, half-pizzicato.  Suddenly  the  image  of  a  rosy 
mountain-side,  a  gold-dusted  plain  spreading  away 
towards  sunset,  the  gloom  of  a  forest  background, 
sprang  before  his  mind.  He  saw  in  the  midst  of 
that  scene  a  gloomy  youth  seated  on  a  milestone, 
a  disabled  chaise,  a  grey  horse  .  .  .  and  up  the  hill, 
advancing  towards  him,  the  vagabond  fiddler.  A 
broken  sun  ray  flashed  back  from  the  yellow  varnish 
of  his  instrument  ...  a  robin  sang  .  .  .  the  white 
horse  cropped  the  leaves  of  young  grass,  with  con- 
tented munching  sound.  The  stream  ran  tinkling 
like  secret  laughter.  Oh,  what  strange  things  had 
been  brought  into  this  traveller's  life  through  the 
breaking  of  a  linchpin  on  the  Thuringian  highway ! 
He  sprang  to  his  feet.  Surely  Geiger-Hans  was 
calling  him !  —  The  Burgrave  never  even  shifted 
his  eyes  to  watch  his  new  nephew  go. 

Steven  found  the  fiddler  at  the  head  of  the  down- 
ward path ;  and  though  he  was  seated,  there  was  an 
air  of  travel  about  him.  He  was  alone.  The  charm 


222  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

of  his  music  had  no  power  that  day  at  Wellenshausen ; 
fleshpots  and  drinking  cans  filled  the  household  mind. 
The  young  man's  heart  contracted;  he  had  learned 
to  feel  strange  attachment  for  his  strange  comrade. 

"I  knew  you  were  playing  a  good-bye,"  he  cried. 
"Will  you  not  wait  and  see  us  go?" 

The  fiddler's  eyes  flung  his  glance,  uneasily,  to 
where  the  white  road  cleared  the  shadowy  green  of 
the  fields  below  and  dipped  into  the  dark  bluish 
lap  of  the  forest. 

"No,  no;  I  must  go!"  he  answered,  wildly, 
Steven  thought. 

"Without  seeing  Sidonia  again?"  exclaimed  the 
young  man. 

The  fiddler  laughed  inconsequently.  He  was  now 
playing  a  kind  of  jig,  almost  on  one  string,  a  restless 
hopping  measure  which  suddenly  made  Steven  long 
to  be  gone  likewise. 

"Two  fine  mules  are  waiting  for  you,"  said  the 
musician,  with  a  quick  look.  "They  have  hung 
Sidonia's  with  flower-wreaths.  And  you  have  red 
trappings  on  yours.  Hark  !  you  can  hear  them  jingle 
their  bells.  They  are  impatient,  they  are  waiting 
for  you.  Hey,  bridegroom,  why  do  you  delay? 
You  should  have  been  gone  as  soon  as  you  had  made 
her  yours." 


'Twixt  Cup  and  Lip  223 

"She  is  dressing  for  the  journey,"  said  Steven. 

"Look,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  pointing  with  his 
bow,  "yonder,  by  the  torrent  bridge  stands  your 
carriage.  You  can  see  the  sun  gleam  on  the  harness. 
If  you  had  my  ears,  you  would  hear  your  horses 
stamp.  They,  too,  are  impatient.  But  the  bride 
will  cling  to  the  old  stones  at  the  last  .  .  .  and,  fie, 
who  would  hurry  a  lady?  I  shall  be  far,  far  away 
before  you  two  set  out.  Nay,  keep  me  not  back,  I 
am  more  impatient  for  the  road  than  even  your  horses 
down  there,  fiery  with  the  week's  oats  .  .  .  than 
even  you,  comrade,  on  your  wedding  day!" 

"Certainly,"  thought  Steven,  uneasily,  "if  ever  I 
doubted  it  before,  the  poor  fellow  is  not  as  other  men. 
How  his  eyes  burn  in  their  deep  sockets  —  I  fear 
our  Geiger-Hans  is  mad." 

At  this  the  other  nodded  to  him,  with  his  fantastic 
intuition. 

"You  are  right,  I  am  mad,"  he  said,  "and  I 
thank  God  —  for  it  is  a  dull  world  for  wise  fools. 
And  your  sanity  and  wisdom  and  dulness,  Sir  Count, 
have  learned  something  worth  the  learning  of  my 
madness.  Aye,  and  received  something  better  than 
knowledge  too:  you  will  grant  that."  And  as 
Steven  stared,  half-offended,  half-startled,  the  fiddler, 
with  his  smile  upon  him  and  his  brilliant  eyes,  fell 


224  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

to  playing  again  that  tune  of  the  road  with  which  he 
had  first  greeted  him. 

"Here  is  a  dull  lad  seated  upon  a  mile-stone," 
he  half  chanted  to  the  cadence,  "and  he  has  nothing 
better  to  do  with  his  youth  than  to  jog  along  the 
plain's  highway,  the  dusty  common  road  that  all 
may  tread  .  .  .  while  behind  him  runs  the  green 
path  of  the  forest,  and  dear  adventure  lies  in  hidden 
glade  for  him  who  cares  to  seek  it  —  so  goodly  a 
youth  to  waste  his  golden  minutes !  .  .  .  And  here 
comes  a  wandering  music-maker,  and  a  crazy  one 
into  the  bargain.  And  this  is  his  freak:  to  see  if 
he  cannot  knock  a  spark  out  of  the  high-born  block. 
Within  the  youth  of  this  goodly  body  lurks  there  no 
soul  to  fire  ?  And,  behold,  it  proves  a  good  scholar 
—  a  very  honest  lad  !  Sparks  are  struck  out  of  his 
block  head.  And  there  is  a  soul  too,  and  it  can  burn 
with  a  very  brave  flame.  .  .  .  And  in  the  forest 
glade  trembles  a  Wind-Flower;  let  him  pluck  it  if 
he  can  and  wear  it  in  his  breast,  for  his  is  a  steady 
hand  and  a  clean,  and  it  will  gather  the  flower 
tenderly." 

The  fiddler  clapped  his  hand  on  the  strings  and 
they  were  mute. 

"Farewell,  little  comrade,"  he  said,  changing  his 
tone,  and  Steven  thought  that  if  the  man's  eyes  had 


'Twixt  Cup  and  Lip  22$ 

had  tears  in  them,  the  sadness  of  them  would  have 
been  less  intolerable.  "Haste  back  to  your  bride, 
impatient  heart!"  added  the  musician  gravely  then. 
"A  little  impatience  is  good.  But,  oh,  hear  me:  — 
hurry  not  her  virginal  dawn,  that  the  sunrise  be  full 
golden  for  you  both !  If  love  is  to  have  its  exquisite 
hour,  love  must  be  both  patient  and  fierce."  He  slung 
his  violin  over  his  shoulder,  and  took  a  sudden  nimble 
step  on  the  downward  rocky  way. 

The  half-hour  struck,  echoing  from  the  gateway 
clock.  A  dreary  quarter  still  to  wait,  according  to 
the  Burgravine's  warning. 

"Oh,  comrade,  stay  a  little  yet!"  cried  the  bride- 
groom. 

The  fiddler  merely  waved  his  hand.  He  was 
scrambling  down  the  steep  way  in  crazy  haste. 

"I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say  still,"  cried 
Steven  again.  He  curled  his  hand  round  his  mouth 
and  called:  "When  shall  we  meet?" 

The  fiddler  halted  suddenly.  He  was  already 
far  on  his  way,  for  he  had  gone  with  incredible 
speed.  But  he  waved  his  hat  above  his  head  with  a 
fantastic  flourish;  then  he  shot  behind  a  big  rock 
and  was  lost  to  sight. 

It  seemed  to  Steven  that  it  was  an  uncompromis- 
ing good-bye,  and  it  was  with  an  odd  sense  of 
Q 


226  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

oppression  that  he  turned  his  own  steps  back  towards 
the  gateway.  He  would  have  struck  any  other 
man  to  the  earth  who  had  dared  once  to  insult, 
browbeat,  or  command  him  as  this  poor  wanderer 
had  so  often  done.  Where  lay  the  spell?  He  had 
power  over  all  that  came  in  contact  with  him ;  and 
—  it  was  true  —  what  marvellous  things  had  he  had 
to  give !  The  young  man's  heart  began  to  throb 
as  he  thought  of  his  bride,  and  he  quickened  his 
step.  .  .  .  The  Wind-Flower,  that  was  his  at  last, 
his  Fair  Dawn ! 

The  bridegroom  entered  with  eager  yet  reverent 
step;  but,  upon  sight  of  the  bride,  checked  his 
advance,  startled,  amazed.  Sidonia  sat  on  a  high- 
backed  chair  as  on  a  judgment-seat,  with  face  coldly 
set,  yet  with  eyes  blazing  reproach. 

"I  sent  for  you,  Hen  Gra]"  she  said,  with  great 
distinctness  of  enunciation,  "to  tell  you  that  I 
decline  to  go  away  with  you." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Steven's  brain.  "I  do  not 
understand,"  he  said,  even  as  she  but  a  little  while 
before;  and  his  tone  was  that  of  sudden  anger. 
The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  too  strong,  too  sudden ; 
his  first  emotion  was  overwhelming  wrath.  "What 
do  you  mean?"  he  demanded. 


'Twixt  Cup  and  Lip  227 

Steel  cannot  strike  steel  but  the  sparks  must 
fly.  A  fierce  pride  had  they  both.  Perhaps  Sidonia, 
in  her  child-heart,  had  looked  for  consternation  on 
her  bridegroom's  face,  had  pictured  him  thunder- 
struck, protesting,  falling  at  her  feet ;  her  wounded 
vanity  now  was  reinforced  by  a  host  of  unknown 
feelings  which  rushed  almost  for  hatred.  Under 
this  arrogant  eye,  to  this  haughty  bidding,  she  would 
not  stoop  to  explanation,  still  less  to  complaint. 

"It  is  sufficient  that  you  should  understand,"  she 
told  him,  "that  now  we  part.  I  do  not  go  with  you. 
Go  you  and  forget  me!" 

"Sidonia!"  he  ejaculated,  stupefaction  for  the 
moment  sweeping  all  other  feelings  away. 

Strangely  enough,  it  never  dawned  upon  him 
to  guess  at  the  truth.  Men,  especially  young  men 
who  have  had  practically  no  dealings  with  the 
opposite  sex,  are  very  slow  to  grasp  woman's  spite- 
fulness,  woman's  deceit.  He  had  felt  shame  at  his 
own  weakness  of  compliance  in  the  matter  of  the 
Burgravine,  but  no  sense  of  guilt  could  remain  where 
he  knew  all  desire  to  sin  to  have  been  so  conspicu- 
ously absent.  He  stood  staring  at  Sidonia's  little 
face  convulsed  with  frowns. 

"Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  with  a  disdainful  laugh, 
"you  have  done  all  that  honour  required  of  you. 


228 

It  is  quite  enough.  We  need  make  no  fine  phrases  for 
each  other's  benefit.  The  situation  is  very  clear, 
and  thereupon  we  may  separate!" 

At  these  inconceivable  words  a  horrible  suspicion 
sprang  upon  him;  he  did  not  pause  to  measure  the 
probabilities,  to  contrast  what  he  knew  with  what 
he  did  not  understand.  Was  it  possible  that  this 
young  creature  had  but  played  a  part  with  him? 
Had  she  feigned  sweet  maiden  love  and  wedded  him, 
virginally  tender,  only  to  save  the  threatened  hon- 
our of  her  name  ?  Nay ;  more  monstrous  thought 
still !  Was  the  whole  business  a  hideous  conspir- 
acy? He  was  shaken  as  by  a  storm.  Crimson 
rushed  to  his  face.  In  two  strides  he  was  beside 
her  menacing. 

"You  are  my  wife!"  he  cried.  "You  are  mine 
—  mine  !  You  belong  to  me !  You  must  do  as  I 
order  —  as  I  order!" 

His  look  filled  her  with  terror.  Child- woman, 
she  shrank  instinctively  from  something  to  her 
nameless,  yet  infinitely  offending.  Clasping  her 
hands  upon  her  breast  to  still  the  throbbing  of  her 
heart,  she  heard,  beneath  her  fingers,  the  whisper 
of  Aunt  Betty's  billet. 

Stung  afresh  to  scorn,  she  reared  her  head  and 
measured  him  with  her  glance.  ,In  silence  she 


'Twixt  Cup  and  Lip  229 

stood,  trying  to  reason  out  the  tangled  problem  for 
herself.  With  her  ignorance  of  life,  her  inborn  pride, 
with  her  passionate  woman's  heart  and  her  childish 
mind,  she  was  bound  to  go  far  and  wide  astray. 

If  the  marriage  on  his  part  was  not  a  mere  piece 
of  chivalrous  self-sacrifice,  an  idea  unbearably 
insulting  in  itself,  why  should  he  now  wish  to  keep 
her  against  her  will,  since  the  conventions  were 
satisfied?  What  gain  could  she  be  to  him,  since  he 
did  not  love  her?  And  how  could  he  love  her,  he 
who  was  in  love  with  Betty  ?  As  in  a  vision  of  red 
flame,  she  recalled  how  he  and  Betty  had  danced 
and  coquetted  together  that  first  night  of  all;  he 
had  not  had  even  a  glance  wherewith  to  recognize 
the  little  Sidonia  who  had  waited  on  him  in  the  forest 
house.  Oh,  it  was  true,  he  had  loved  Betty  from 
the  beginning.  And  she,  Sidonia,  who  had  let 
herself  be  won  by  a  few  careless  words,  was  at 
the  best  only  a  sacrifice  to  the  world's  idea  of 
high-born,  gentlemanly  decorum.  The  memory 
of  these  last  days,  so  exquisite  to  her,  was 
blighted.  She  had  never  been  anything  to  him,  that 
was  clear.  He  had  been  kind  to  her,  indulgent,  but 
he  had  never  once,  she  remembered  now,  told  her 
that  he  loved  her.  And  she,  fool !  had  never  realized, 
even  with  Betty's  example  before  her,  that  people 


230  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

could  seek  to  wed  each  other  without  love.  Out 
of  her  own  mad  abundance  she  had  lent  to  him. 
And  the  poor  little  coin  he  had  doled  out  in  return 
to  her,  she  had  taken  for  gold.  But  now,  why  should 
he  look  at  her  with  those  fierce,  greedy  eyes  ?  Why 
should  this  "poor,  chivalrous  young  man,"  as  Betty 
called  him,  claim  her  as  his  bargain,  and  in  these 
brutal  tones? 

Once  more  Betty's  voice,  with  its  devilish  sugges- 
tion, rang  in  her  ears :  Oj  course,  my  love,  there  are 
compensations  about  you! 

"  You  can  have  my  money  if  you  will  —  and  I 
am  very  rich,  as  you  know  —  so  that  you  only  go. 
Go!"  she  cried  suddenly. 

Sidonia  shook  from  head  to  foot  as  she  spoke  at 
last.  But  her  eyes  and  her  voice  were  indomitable 
in  their  determination.  As  if  her  slender  sunburnt 
hand  had  struck  him  a  deadly  blow,  Steven  Lee, 
Count  Kielmansegg,  stepped  back  a  couple  of  paces, 
and  the  blood,  ebbing  from  his  face,  left  it  grey. 
He  paused  for  a  while,  then  made  a  bow,  turned  on 
his  heel,  and  went  to  the  door.  On  the  threshold 
he  looked  back  at  her  for  a  second  again.  It  was  a 
farewell  look,  and  bore  in  it  a  pride  as  high  and 
bleeding  as  her  own,  a  reproach  as  keen.  She  saw 
that  his  lip  trembled.  Then  the  door  was  closed, 


'Twixt  Clip  and  Lip  231 

very  gently,  between  them,  and  she  heard  his  steps 
die  away  down  the  winding  stone  stairs. 

She  glanced  at  her  new  wedding-ring  and  thought 
her  heart  must  break,  but  yet  she  sat  and  made  no 
effort  to  recall  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  SKIRT  OF  WAR 

"  And  there  was  mounting,  in  hot  haste,  the  steed. 
The  mustering  squadron  and  the  clattering  car 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speeed.  .  .  ." 

BYRON. 

IT  was  a  day  of  scurrying  breezes  and  dappled 
skies.  Long  pools  reflected  blue  and  white  in  the 
ruts  of  his  Majesty  King  Jerome  of  Westphalia's 
neglected  highway.  Wide  and  deep  ruts  they  were, 
tracks  of  the  "Grand  Army"  that  had  been;  and 
even  a  village  child  could  have  told  that  great  guns 
and  waggons  had  passed  that  way  before  the  sweep- 
ing by  of  the  last  spring  storm. 

But  the  rider,  on  his  big-boned,  iron-grey  horse, 
splashed  through  the  mud  at  reckless  speed.  He  had 
no  thought  for  the  story  of  the  wounded  country 
road.  Its  tragic  significance  would  have  left  him 
unmoved  had  he  understood.  Such  experience  as 
he  had  just  been  through  changes  the  whole  world 
in  a  man's  eyes :  he  becomes  as  one  who,  a  moment 
before  in  perfect  health,  finds  himself  shattered  by 
232 


The  Skirt  of  War  233 

some  disabling  accident  —  nothing  in  life  can  ever 
look,  ever  feel  the  same  again.  He  had  wrenched 
himself  free  of  love's  snare  as  the  wild  thing  of  the 
woods  from  the  teeth  of  the  springe ;  but  at  what  vital 
hurt,  how  maimed,  how  bruised,  how  deeply  marked ! 
What  was  it  to  him  that  the  west  wind,  dashing 
against  his  face,  was  balmy  with  the  breath  of  the 
black  pinewoods  on  the  rising  slopes  to  his  right ;  that 
the  rank  meadows  that  fell  away  to  the  left  were 
colour  ali\  ~,  gold-green  in  the  sunlight ;  that  shadows 
swept  across  them  like  spirit  messages?  His  ears 
were  deaf  to  the  organ  chant  of  the  pines,  to  the  shrill 
call  of  the  bird  echoing  back  from  the  blue  vault. 
Unmoved,  he  trotted  through  the  poverty-stricken 
villages,  by  the  deserted  homesteads,  once  flourish- 
ing, beside  the  wasted  cornfields.  One  whom  life 
was  treating  as  evilly  as  himself  could  not  be  expected 
to  bestow  even  the  alms  of  a  pitying  thought  to  the 
peasant  soldiers,  stiff  in  the  snows  of  Russia,  or 
plodding,  vanquished  at  last,  in  Spanish  rocky 
deserts,  nor  to  the  starving  families  to  whom  the 
breadwinner  would  never  return.  He  did  not  even 
care  whither  he  was  hurrying,  so  long  as  he  crossed 
the  nearest  frontier  of  a  country  to  him  accursed. 
To  this  goal  all  the  passions  of  his  mind  were  pointed. 


234  "If  youth  but  Knew!" 

With  head  bent  towards  the  wind,  and  fiddle  slung 
on  his  shoulder,  a  wandering  musician  was  breasting 
the  hill,  where  the  high  Imperial  road  skirting  the 
Thuringian  forest  bends  towards  that  fertile  valley 
watered  by  the  Fulda.  The  sinews  of  Steven's 
steed  faltered  before  the  steepness  of  the  ascent,  and 
the  mounted  traveller,  curbing  his  impatience  to 
suit  the  way,  found  himself  level  with  the  humble 
wayfarer  at  a  pace  that  made  companionship  inevi- 
table. Yet,  on  the  instant  that  he  had  recognized 
him,  the  rider  would  fain  have  passed  unnoticed.  It 
seemed  hard,  a  perversity  of  fate,  that  in  this  wide, 
empty  country,  he  should  stumble  upon  the  one  man 
whom  he  would  of  all  others  avoid ;  the  man  who 
had  had  so  much  influence  —  he  now  thought  for 
disaster  —  upon  his  life. 

Geiger-Hans,  the  friend,  the  comrade,  had  become, 
in  his  eyes,  the  enemy.  To  his  meddling  he  owed 
his  present  misfortune,  the  humiliation  that  was 
eating  into  his  soul,  the  disillusion  which  made  even 
the  soft  west  wind  bitter  to  his  taste. 

The  wanderer  started  as  he  beheld  the  young  face 
looking  down  at  him  from  over  the  horseman's'cloak. 

"You!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I!"  said  Steven. 

The  man  on  foot  halted.     He  on  horseback  un- 


The  Skirt  of  War  235 

consciously  reined  in.  The  two  remained  gazing 
at  each  other,  and  in  the  eyes  of  both  was  hot  re- 
proach. 

Slowly  the  blood  crept  back  crimson  to  the  coun- 
tenance of  Geiger-Hans,  which  had  grown  livid  under 
its  tan. 

"And  whither  set  you  off  alone,  bridegroom,  on 
your  grey  horse?"  asked  he  at  length,  in  that  tone  of 
irony  under  which  he  hid  most  of  emotions. 

"Anywhere,"  answered  the  bridegroom  with  a 
pale  smile,  "so  long  as  I  put  space  between  myself 
and  my  bride." 

Geiger-Hans  drew  his  brows  together  into  a  dark 
frown.  His  nostrils  dilated,  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
twitched. 

*"Peste!"  said  he  under  his  voice.  Then:  "Is 
it  not  a  little  premature?  The  joy  bells  can  hardly 
be  silent  yet.  Had  it  been  a  few  months  later  — 
but  now ! " 

His  tone  was  cynical,  but  his  eye  was  stern  and 
anxious. 

"Months?"  echoed  the  rider  with  a  laugh. 
"It  took  her  but  the  measure  of  minutes  to  decide 
on  my  worth." 

"Her?"  commented  the  musician  with  inquiring 
emphasis. 


236  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Did  you  think,"  answered  Steven  —  and,  though 
he  strove  to  be  cool,  the  passion  of  his  wrath  wrote 
itself  on  every  line  of  his  face  and  vibrated  in  his 
voice  like  the  first  mutterings  of  thunder  —  "did 
you  think  I  went  through  the  marriage  ceremony 
for  the  pure  amusement  of  making  a  nine  days' 
scandal  and  deserting  my  hour-old  wife?  That 
would  have  been  a  brilliant  jest  indeed !  No ; 
if  you  must  know,  the  situation  is  of  her  making. 
She  took  her  woman's  privilege  .  .  .  and  changed 
her  mind." 

"She  was  a  child  yesterday,"  said  Geiger-Hans. 

There  was  pain  in  Steven's  smile  as  he  returned : 

"She  was  no  child  this  morning." 

"But,  heavens!"  cried  the  other  impatiently, 
"even  so.  Did  she  play  the  woman,  was  it  not  the 
more  reason  for  you  to  play  the  man  ?  You  left  her, 
you  left  her  ...  is  it  possible?  For  a  few  sharp 
words,  perhaps,  some  silly  misunderstanding !  Why, 
she  was  yours,  man ;  and  you  should  haye  carried  her 
with  you,  were  it  on  the  crupper  of  that  high-boned 
grey." 

"Aye,"  replied  Steven.  "Even  so,  as  you  say. 
It  also  dawned  upon  me,  deficient  as  I  am  in  wits, 
that  the  time  had  come  for  me  to  play  the  man.  I 
actually  announced  my  intention  of  carrying  her 


The  Skirt  of  War  237 

away  with  me  by  main  force  —  not  on  this  brute, 
but  in  the  coach  prepared  for  our  bridal  journey. 
She  reminded  me  that  I  took  her  fortune  with  her." 

"Ah,  bah!"  said  the  fiddler,  and  winced  as  if  he 
had  been  struck. 

"It  seems  she  is  an  heiress,"  continued  the 
bridegroom's  voice  over  his  head.  "She  offered 
me  half  her  fortune  —  her  whole  fortune  —  if  I 
would  go  without  her !  Hey !  what  answer  would 
you  have  a  man  make  to  that?" 

It  seemed  as  if  the  fiddler  could  not  say ;  even  his 
ready  tongue  had  no  reply. 

Steven  had  meant  to  take  a  more  dignified  attitude 
with  the  vagrant ;  to  assume  as  gentlemanly  a  mask 
of  indifference  as  possible.  The  unexpected  meet- 
ing (and  Steven  had  no  intention  but  that  it  should 
be  the  last)  should  be  conducted  with  a  rational  re- 
gard to  the  distance  between  them.  His  heart  was 
no  longer  on  his  sleeve  for  this  wayside  jackdaw 
to  peck  at.  But  the  old  power  of  the  fellow's 
presence,  and  also  his  own  youthful  pain,  were  too 
strong  for  him.  Into  the  silence  he  dropped  a 
desperate  cry: 

"Oh,  curse  you,  Geiger-Hans;  why  could  you 
not  have  passed  me  by  on  the  road  that  evening,  and 
left  me  to  my  own  life!" 


238  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

The  fiddler  looked  up  at  him,  still  mute ;  but  there 
was  something  in  his  look  that  went  straight  to  the 
core  of  Steven's  wounded  soul,  and  brought  a  sense 
of  comfort  and  of  strength.  And  yet  —  strange !  it 
actually  seemed  as  if  Steven's  sorrow  were  nothing  to 
the  sorrow  of  Geiger-Hans,  this  hour.  They  were 
enemies  no  more  —  they  were  comrades,  struck  by 
the  same  misfortune.  But  Geiger-Hans  was  brave ; 
he  knew  how  to  bear  his  share.  Steven  felt  suddenly 
ashamed. 

"And  so  you  rode  away?"  said  the  musician  then, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  horse's  shoulder. 

It  was  to  Steven  as  if  that  lean  hand  had  kindly 
touched  himself. 

"Aye  —  I  got  the  first  nag  to  be  had  for  money, 
and  rode  away,  leaving  her  my  carriage  and  horses 
and  servants.  For  a  Countess  Waldorf!- Kielman- 
segg  must  have  her  equipage !  That  episode  is 
closed!" 

The  rider  chucked  his  reins  and  set  the  rested 
horse  to  his  labour  up  the  hill  once  more. 

Geiger-Hans  had  remained  a  second,  gazing  at 
the  stones  in  the  road;  then  he  roused  himself,  and 
caught  up  the  rider  in  a  couple  of  quick  strides. 
His  shoulders  were  rounded  as  beneath  a  burden. 
Yet  Fate  had  played  him  too  many  scurvy  tricks 


The  Skirt  of  War  239 

for  him  to  indulge  in  the  astounded  rebellion  of  youth. 
After  a  while  he  looked  up  and  spoke  again. 

"These  women,"  he  said,  "these  children  —  they 
insult  a  man  because  they  do  not  understand.  Mis- 
chief has  been  made  —  mischief  is  always  alert 
somewhere  when  marriage-bells  are  ringing.  Go 
back  to  her!" 

"I!"  cried  Steven  Lee. 

"Go  back  to  her!"  said  the  fiddler  again,  as  he 
trudged  the  stony  way.  "Be  generous " 

Steven  laughed  out  loud;  and  Geiger-Hans  knew 
that  the  wound  had  gone  deeper  even  than  he  sus- 
pected. 

"I  am  for  Vienna,"  said  the  bridegroom  briefly. 
"But  I  shall  make  fit  settlements  upon  her,  never 
fear,  and  such  provisions  as  may  safeguard  her 
honour  .  .  .  and  my  own.  And  as " 

"Nay,  comrade,"  interrupted  the  other,  sharply, 
"such  a  union  as  yours  —  why,  'twould  be  the 
easiest  contract  to  annul  that  ever  two  young  fools 
repented  of." 

Steven's  hands  contracted  over  the  leather. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  he,  and  grew  darkly 
crimson.  "Oh,  of  course,"  he  said,  and  laughed, 
"that  would  be  much  the  best.  Aha!  Annul! 
Well,  she  has  only  to  wish  it." 


240  "If  Youth  but  Knew .'" 

The  musician,  observing  him,  showed  now  a  lighter 
countenance,  and  presently  smiled  to  himself.  Then 
he  shifted  his  instrument  from  his  back  to  his  breast 
and  began  to  twang  the  strings,  as  if  in  deep  reflection. 

"We  shall  part  at  the  top  of  the  hill,"  said  the 
rider. 

"Shall  we?"  said  the  wayfarer.  "I  think  not. 
Listen,  my  lord." 

The  rousing  autumn  wind  brought  indeed  a 
strange  distant  rumour  on  its  wings,  and  the  fiddler 
imposed  silence  on  his  restless  fingers  and  stood 
still  himself,  leaning  his  ear. 

Once  more  Steven  arrested  his  horse.  There  is 
nothing  so  infectious  as  the  curiosity  of  the  ear. 
The  flapping  gust  fell  as  they  halted ;  and  then  the 
sounds  which  it  had  carried  over  the  crest  of  the 
knoll  seemed  to  be  repeated  with  much  greater  dis- 
tinctness from  the  vale  in  their  rear. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  he. 

It  was  a  sound  like  the  beat  of  giant  storm-rain 
upon  forest  leaves,  only  that  it  was  measured  at 
repeated  intervals  by  rhythmic  jingle  and  clink. 
Even  as  he  spoke,  Steven  heard  a  crisp  drumming 
of  hoofs  separate  itself  from  the  confusion;  then, 
upon  the  ring  of  a  commanding  voice,  the  thunder- 
wave  of  advance  broke  itself  into  silence.  And  in 


The  Skirt  of  War  241 

the  midst  of  this  silence  a  succession  of  cracking  shots 
suddenly  pattered  close  on  one  another,  as  beads 
dropping  from  a  string. 

"Stand  back!"  cried  the  fiddler.  And,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  he  seized  the  horse  by  the  bit 
and  forced  it  backwards  into  the  ditch  that  girt  the 
road  on  the  side  of  the  fields. 

"But  what  is  it?"  asked  Steven  once  more,  as 
clamour  within  the  woods  rose  again:  a  hideous 
medley  of  human  voices  wrangling  like  angry  beasts, 
of  plunging  and  neighing  of  horses,  crackling  of 
boughs  and  thud  of  iron  hoofs.  The  fiddler  dilated 
his  nostrils.  He  stood  leaning  against  the  flank 
of  the  grey,  his  right  hand  still  firmly  on  the  bit. 
A  fine  blue  vapour,  pungent  of  smell,  was  oozing 
between  the  dark  firs. 

"Have  you  never  smelt  it  before,  you  innocent?" 
said  he,  looking  up  at  the  rider,  and  his  sunburnt 
face  was  kindled  by  stern  fires.  "Yet  there's  scarce 
a  square  rood  of  Europe,  these  twelve  years,  that  has 
not  known  the  smoke  of  this  holocaust.  It  is  war, 
man!" 

The  words  were  still  on  his  lips  when  the  placid 
front  of  the  forest  before  them  was  shaken  and 
pierced  and  rent  in  a  hundred  places.  Red-coated 
hussars,  with  flying  blue  dolmans  —  bareheaded 


242  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

most,  but  some  with  huge  shako  and  plume  at  a 
dishevelled  angle  —  broke  covert  along  the  whole 
line,  crashing  through  the  underwood,  leaping,  it 
seemed,  one  upon  the  other,  each  man  inclining  in 
his  saddle  and  spurring  towards  the  downward 
slope  at  a  mad  gallop. 

Steven's  horse  shivered  under  him.  It  had,  no 
doubt,  in  its  youth  been  a  charger:  it  was  now 
seized  with  martial  ardour,  and  flinging  up  its  head 
to  shake  off  the  fiddler's  grip,  displayed  such  a  strong 
intention  to  join  in  the  race  —  which  no  doubt  it 
conceived  to  be  a  glorious  charge  —  that  a  less 
practised  rider  would  have  found  it  hard  to  keep 
the  saddle. 

As  it  was,  Steven  could  gather  but  a  confused 
impression  of  the  flying  troop  as  it  thundered  past 
—  of  a  whirl,  bucketing,  straining,  pumping,  clank- 
ing, splashing;  of  men's  faces,  crimson,  distorted, 
open-mouthed;  of  bridles  slavered  with  blood  and 
foam ;  of  craning  horses'  necks,  and  nostrils  afire ! 

Geiger-Hans  gave  a  shrill  laugh: 

"The  most  gallant  the  Hussars  of  the  Guard  of 
His  Majesty  Jerome  the  First  (and  last !)  in  full 
rout !  And,  oh,  shadow  of  Moscow !  who  are  the 
pursuers?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  RAID 

"  List  his  discourse  of  war,  and  you  shall  hear 
A  fearful  battle  rendered  you  in  music." 
(King  Henry  F.). 

THE  forest  was  now  alive  with  hoarse,  guttural 
cries,  as  if  the  wooded  depths  had  released  some 
giant  brood  of  ravens.  And  then,  helter-skelter, 
even  as  the  last  belated  hussar,  blood  streaming 
from  a  black  gash  in  his  forehead,  clattered  heavily 
rearmost  of  his  comrades,  reins  loose,  clinging  to 
the  saddle  —  they  came !  Squat  riders  on  squat 
horses  —  cattle  and  man  as  shaggy  and  unkempt 
one  as  the  other  —  with  long  tags  of  hair  bobbing 
round  wild-bearded  faces,  pointed  fur  caps  drawn 
down  to  the  eyes,  sheepskin-clad  knees  up  almost 
to  the  chin,  stirruped  with  rope,  brandishing  rough 
spears ;  miscellaneous  booty  —  a  goose,  a  sucking- 
pig,  a  frying-pan,  maybe  a  cottage  clock  —  swinging 
at  the  saddle-bow !  They  came,  shouting  their 
crow-call,  exulting,  squealing,  grunting !  They 
243 


244  "  V  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

came,  filled  the  road  with  clamour  and  clatter,  and 
stench  .  .  .  and  were  gone  before  Steven  could 
draw,  it  seemed  to  him,  the  full  breath  of  his  amaze- 
ment! 

Like  the  second  gust  of  the  hurricane,  they  had 
gathered,  broken  past  them,  and  were  lost;  the 
clamour  of  their  tempest  way  rising  loud,  then  grow- 
ing swiftly  faint  in  the  distance,  as  the  valley  re- 
ceived them. 

"Now,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  looking  up,  "here  is 
an  experience  for  your  English-bred  youth.  Fate 
has  annihilated  the  centuries;  you  have  beheld  the 
passage  of  the  Huns !  Pouah !  what  a  wild-beast 
trail  they  have  left  behind  them !  To  think  that 
Napoleon  should  have  gone  to  seek  these  wolves 
and  jackals  in  their  steppes,  and  spread  the  Cossack 
over  the  face  of  Europe!" 

He  sprang  out  of  the  ditch;  and  the  grey,  much 
injured  in  feeling,  snorting  and  sullenly  upheaving 
its  haunches,  was  induced  to  follow.  A  roll  of  far- 
off  musketry  crepitated  up  to  them  from  the  plain. 

"Do  you  hear?"  said  Geiger-Hans.  "And  do 
you  know  what  that  means?" 

"They  are  fighting  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill," 
said  Steven,  spurring  towards  the  crest. 

"Yes,  it  is  perhaps  worth  your  youthship's  atten- 


The  Raid  245 

tion.  Do  not,  however,  flatter  yourself  that  you  are 
viewing  a  battle.  A  mere  skirmish,  un  combat, 
nothing  more;  one  of  the  hundred  or  so  that  takes 
place  now,  week  in,  week  out,  on  the  marches  of 
the  mighty  conqueror's  lands.  For  a  small  kingdom, 
little  brother  Jerome  can  flatter  himself  to  have 
gathered  to  it,  from  without  and  within,  a  consider- 
able collection  of  enemies  —  Cossacks  hanging  like 
jackals  on  the  flanks  of  the  great  army;  Prussians 
from  the  north,  Saxons  from  the  east,  peasants  and 
students  from  his  own  villages  and  cities.  This  raid 
is  scarce  like  to  appear  in  the  Gazette,  but  it  is  enough, 
for  the  combatants !  The  dead  yonder  are  as  dead 
as  though  they  had  fallen  at  Austerlitz  or  the  Mos- 
kowa.  Hark,  at  the  snap  of  the  musket — that  is 
the  sound  of  the  Empire  cracking !  'Tis  the  Empire 
cracking,"  repeated  the  musician,  running  alongside, 
his  hand  at  the  stirrup-leather.  "And  the  little 
House  of  Westphalia  is  doomed  to  fall,  as  the  cot- 
tage falls  on  the  hillside  from  the  earthquake  that 
has  wrecked  the  city.  ...  A  back-wave  from 
Moscow  have  we  here  to-day." 

They  had  halted  on  the  crest,  and  their  gaze 
plunged  into  the  open  valley.  A  canopy  of  blue 
smoke  hung  over  the  fields  that  spread  between 


246  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

their  knoll  and  a  little  town,  some  half-mile  distant. 
The  mist  was  pierced  with  slow-moving  lines  of 
bayonets  which  flashed  back  the  sunshine;  it  was 
traversed  with  colour. 

Geiger-Hans  ran  a  knowing  eye  over  the  scene: 

"Aha!  What  did  I  tell  you?  Those  are  Prus- 
sians, holding  the  townlet,"  said  he.  "Contrast 
their  sober  uniform  with  Jerome's  scarlets  and  greens, 
his  plumes  and  gold  lace.  There  go  our  runaways ! 
See  them  draw  up  behind  yonder  crimson  platoon 
—  Brother  Jerome's  Grenadiers  of  the  Guard,  for 
he  must  ape  big  brother  Napoleon.  .  .  .  Look,  our 
friends  the  Cossacks  roll  back  together  like  a  swarm 
of  hornets  at  the  foot  of  the  hill ;  they  find  themselves 
cut  off  from  their  Prussian  allies  —  and  if  the  Hus- 
sars but  rally  in  time,  we  may  see  the  rdles  of  the 
drama  reversed  in  a  minute." 

He  fell  abruptly  silent:  something  had  flown 
between  his  head  and  Steven's  as  the  latter  bent 
towards  him  from  his  saddle  —  something  that 
droned  a  strange  song  as  it  passed  and  puffed  a 
cold  breath  on  their  cheeks. 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Steven,  starting. 

"That  was  a  stray  Death,"  said  the  musician, 
placidly.  "What  say  you  —  shall  we  seek  cover?" 

"Let  us  see  the  thing  out!"  cried  Steven. 


The  Raid  247 

"There  will  be  more  lead  loose,"  said  Geiger- 
Hans,  glancing  up  with  an  odd  expression.  "Death 
flies  on  a  capricious  wing  when  this  sort  of  game  is 
played." 

"Why,  then,"  answered  the  bridegroom,  with  his 
smile  of  bitterness,  "that  might  be  the  simplest 
solution  of  all;  at  least,  I  should  not  be  deeply 
mourned." 

"If  that  be  your  mind  towards  bullets,"  said  the 
fiddler,  with  a  shadow  of  sarcasm,  "for  once  your 
youth  and  my  age  are  in  harmony.  But  what  if 
you  were  to  tie  your  horse  behind  some  forest  trees  ? 
There  is  no  need  of  offering  him  up  also  to  our  altar 
of  despair  —  and  he  might  be  of  use  to  one  of  us, 
when  the  day  is  over." 

Steven  admitted  the  suggestion  without  a  word. 
Presently  both  men  sat  upon  a  high  bank,  their 
legs  dangling  into  space. 

"How  inspiring!"  said  the  fiddler.  He  unslung 
his  instrument.  "Did  you  hear  that  volley?  It 
came  from  troops  trained  under  Bonaparte,  I'll 
wager  my  fiddle-bow.  Here  the  insurgents  respond. 
See  those  puffs  of  white  smoke  in  and  out  of  the  line 
under  the  village  wall !  Not  a  gun  together.  Loose 
shooting  .  .  .  but  good  hatred !  I'll  back  it  in  the 
long  run  !  Drums !  shouts !  The  bayonet  charge. 


248  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

What  did  I  tell  you?  here  come  our  Huns  back 
again  .  .  .  what's  left  of  them.  I  am  inspired ! 
Hark  you,  this  is  the  song  of  the  fight.  .  .  .  First 
come  the  Grenadiers,  cool  and  scornful,  musket  on 
breast,  arms  folded;  they  march  like  one  man.  '/ 
have  served  under  the  Eagle;  I  have  been  of  the 
Guard  of  the  Great  Emperor.  To  Moscow  I  have 
been  .  .  .  and  back:  to-day  it  is  sunshine  :  it  is 
child's  play,  but  I  would  rather  be  back  on  the  ice 
with  my  Emperor.  To  me  he  is  the  Little  Corporal: 
I  am  one  of  the  old  lot.  It  is  I  and  mine  who  put 
the  crown  on  his  head.  To  Jena  we  went  singing : 

« «  «  We'll  go  and  bring  a  kingdom  home, 
To  give  little  brother  Jerome." 

He  said  little  brother  should  have  a  little  kingdom 
of  his  own  —  well,  what  is  this  rabble  that  would 
undo  his  work?  ...  It  was  warm  work  at  Jena, 
comrade  —  oh,  and  it  was  cold  at  Moscow!'  .  .  . 

"'Aim  at  the  Old  Guards,  kerls'  (says  the  Prussian 
to  his  gunners).  'Hurl  down  the  Guard,  and  the 
field  is  ours!  .  .  .  Hurl  down  the  Guard,  aha!1 

1(1 1  have  to  come  out  to  -fight  for  the  Fatherland' 
(says  the 'peasant  lad);  'my  mother  put  a  green 
sprig  in  my  hat.  I  shall  put  a  notch  on  my  musket- 
stock  for  every  Frenchman  I  have  killed,  and  shall 


The  Raid  249 

show  it  to  my  children  when  Gretel  and  I  marry.'' 
...  Oh,  but  the  Old  Guard  shoots  steady  I  Green 
sprig  is  down  on  the  meadow;  his  comrades  jump 
over  him,  one  steps  on  his  hand,  but  he  feels  nothing. 
Poor  little  Patriot;  he  has  not  even  struck  one  blow 
lor  the  Fatherland,  but  his  red  blood  is  sinking  into 
the  soil !  How  bright  will  bloom  the  flower  of  liberty 
in  the  land  thus  watered!" 

The  fiddler  wielded  his  bow  with  a  kind  of  frenzy, 
and  his  battle  music  rose  above  the  clamour  of  the 
distant  combat,  the  scramble  and  clatter  of  the  Cos- 
sacks up  the  hills,  their  defiant  calls  and  grunts. 

The  remnant  of  the  wild  horde  had  reached  the 
summit  again  in  mad  disorder,  seeking  the  forest 
shelter  at  the  first  available  point.  A  flight  of  bul- 
lets came  singing  through  the  air  among  them: 
the  company  of  grenadiers,  marking  the  routed 
enemy  against  the  sky-line,  had  flung  a  last  contemp- 
tuous volley  after  them.  The  savages  squealed  and 
ducked,  clinging  to  their  shaggy  steeds  in  fantastic 
attitudes;  a  few  were  struck;  one  fell;  his  nearest 
comrade  caught  up  the  reins  of  his  mount  and,  with 
exultant  yell,  led  it  away  with  him.  The  dead  man 
was  dragged  a  few  yards  till  his  inert  foot  fell  loose 
of  the  hempen  stirrup  and  he  lay,  a  heap  of  discol- 
oured rags,  among  the  stones.  Fear  was  on  no  man's 


250  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

face,  but  grins  of  defiance  undaunted.  Their 
war-cry  was  still  of  triumph. 

Geiger-Hans  sprang  to  his  feet  on  the  bank.  He 
waved  his  bow,  then  drove  it  across  the  strings  to  a 
new  song,  shrill  and  mocking  —  a  song  of  scorn 
for  the  fugitive: 

" Spread  your  dark  wings  and  fly,  obscene  birds! 
Yet  exult  as  you  go :  the  scent  of  Death  is  in  the  air. 
In  a  little  while  you  may  gorge  —  but  to-day  the 
stricken  Eagle  can  still  beat  back  the  carrion  crows. 
Fly,  flap  your  wings  —  caw  —  caw  I " 

Steven  stared  amazed  at  his  companion,  and 
listened  spellbound.  The  musician  was  like  a  man 
possessed.  His  grizzled  locks  seemed  to  stand  out 
from  his  face,  his  left  hand  danced  along  the  strings, 
his  right  arm  worked  with  fury.  If  ever  catgut  and 
wood  mocked  and  insulted,  that  possessed  instru- 
ment of  Geiger-Hans'  did  so  that  day  of  the  combat 
of  Heiligenstadt,  in  the  teeth  of  the  defeated  Kalmuck. 
"Caw,  caw!"  it  shrieked,  catching  the  very  gut- 
tural of  the  last  belated  Cossack,  who  struggled  in 
rear  of  his  comrades  on  a  wounded  horse.  The  man 
turned  back  in  his  sheepskin  saddle,  fury  in  his 
bloodshot  eyes,  poised  his  weapon  over  his  head, 
measuring  his  distance. 

"Take  care!"   cried   Steven,   leaping  from   the 


"  Spread  your  dark  wings,  obscene  birds  !  .  .  .  the  scent  of  Death  is  in 
the  air.  In  a  little  while  you  may  gorge  !  .  .  .  /•/>',  flap  your  wings  — 
caw  —  caw  /" 


The  Raid  251 

bank.  But  louder  and  shriller  played  Geiger-Hans. 
The  savage  hurled  the  lance ;  and  .Steven,  flinging 
himself  forward,  with  arms  extended,  caught  the 
blow.  He  rolled  back  upon  the  player  and  both 
came  to  the  ground  together.  The  music  fell  mute. 
Shouting  victory,  the  Cossack  forced  his  bleeding 
nag  into  the  brushwood. 

t  4  4>  Jfc  4 

"If  Madame  Sidonia  were  here,"  said  the  fiddler, 
with  emphasis  on  the  married  title,  "what  a  hero 
you  would  be  to  her!" 

He  had  bound  Steven's  shoulder  —  the  wound 
was  an  ugly  gash  enough  —  ministered  to  him  with 
the  wine  of  the  country  from  a  flask  of  his  own,  and 
water  from  the  brook.  The  contest  for  the  village, 
between  King  Jerome's  troops  and  the  raiders,  was 
yet  undecided,  and  fitful  sounds  of  battle  were  still 
growling  in  the  valley. 

The  winds  blustered  in  the  tree-tops;  they  had 
swept  the  sky  from  west  to  east  more  blue  than  there 
is  colour  to  describe.  There  was  a  wonderful  pulse 
of  growing  things  about  them.  Every  grass-blade 
shook  in  lusty  individual  life.  The  leafage  was  full 
of  bright-eyed,  feathered  broods,  planning  the  autumn 
flitting.  The  whole  forest  hummed  with  the  minute 
creatures  of  Nature's  fecundity.  ...  In  the  plain, 


252  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

openly  and  with  tumult,  the  masters  of  earth  were 
strewing  its  fair  face  with  Death. 

"If  Madame  Sidonia  were  here!"  repeated  the 
fiddler,  and  cast  a  sly  look  at  the  young  man's  face 
over  the  last  knot  of  his  bandage. 

Steven  frowned  and  was  silent. 

"They  will  go  on  tearing  each  other  to  pieces  down 
there  till  night.  What  say  you  ?  Shall  not  grey 
steed  retrace  his  steps  and  carry  Master  Bride- 
groom back  where  he  should  be?" 

"No!"  cried  the  other,  scarlet  leaping  to  his 
livid  face.  "A  thousand  times  no!  I  am  not  yet 
the  base  thing  she  deems  me." 

The  musician  subdued  a  sigh. 

"What  a  noble  thing  is  true  pride!"  quoth  he, 
picked  up  his  fiddle  and  began  to  examine  it  care- 
fully.—  "Heavens!"  he  cried,  "if  you  had  broken 
it !  Can  a  man  fling  himself  upon  another  in  such 
inconsiderate  fashion  when  there's  a  Stradivarius 
between  them!" 

"Had  it  not  been  for  my  want  of  consideration," 
said  Steven,  with  some  pique,  "I  think  the  precious 
instrument  would  hardly  have  known  the  touch  of 
your  fingers  again." 

The  fiddler  laughed  out  loud,  as  if  the  boyish  out- 
cry had  pleased  him ;  then,  as  suddenly,  grew  grave. 


The  Raid  253 

"My  friend,"  said  he,  "the  steel  has  not  been 
tempered,  I  fear,  the  lead  has  not  been  cast,  that 
will  reach  this  heart.  .  .  .  Ah,  Lord!" 

It  was  an  exclamation  of  uttermost  weariness.  He 
picked  at  his  strings  and  tightened  them  with  absent 
fingers.  Then  he  flashed  a  smile  at  his  companion : 

"You  are  amazed,  are  you  not,  at  my  ingratitude? 
What !  Here  have  I,  Count  Waldorff-Kielmansegg, 
preserved  the  existence  of  this  wretched  tramp  at 
the  risk  of  my  noble,  valuable  one  —  here  have  I 
shed  my  blue  blood  to  save  his  muddy  fluid,  and  the 
creature  has  not  even  a  '  Thank  you ' !  .  .  .  Com- 
rade," went  on  the  musician,  and  his  eye  dilated, 
his  countenance  assumed  a  lofty  mien,  "I  would  not 
shame  myself  and  you  by  such  a  word  as  '  Thanks ' ! 
The  creature  that  would  not  give  himself  to  save  his 
fellow-creature  when  he  can  is  not  worth  the  name 
of  man." 

Steven,  abashed  that  he  had  indeed  thought  him- 
self heroic,  blushed  again  and,  looking  down,  began 
idly  plucking  with  his  unhurt  right  hand  the  wood- 
violets  that  grew  in  patches  on  the  bank.  The  fid- 
dler followed  his  movements,  then  his  eye  suddenly 
grew  fixed,  his  jaw  dropped.  Slowly  the  healthy 
colour  ebbed  from  his  cheek  and  left  it  ashen. 
Steven,  looking  at  him,  was  astonished  and  alarmed. 


254 


llf  Youth  but  Knew!" 


"For  heaven's  sake!"  he  cried,  "are  you  ill?" 

The  fiddler  stretched  out  his  hand  and  culled  the 
posy  from  the  other's  grasp.  The  touch  of  his 
fingers  was  as  cold  as  death. 

"Violets !"  said  he,  in  a  sort  of  whisper.  "There 
is  blood  on  them!"  He  shuddered  from  head  to 
foot. 

"Perhaps  all  the 
a  poor  mad  gentle- 
It  was  an  idea  which 
him  in  the  company 


but     never     had     it 


mystery  is  but  that  he  is 
man,"    thought     Steven, 
could  not  fail  to  recur  to 
|  of  this  fantastic  being ; 
seemed  so  justified. 


"Hurl  down  the  Guard,  and  the  field  is  ours  !  .  .  .     Hurl 
down  the  Guard,  aha  !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MELODY  IN  THE  VIOLETS 

"  What  of  the  heart  -without  her  ?    Nay,  poor  heart, 
Ofthee  what  word  remains  ere  speech  be  still? 
A  wayfarer  by  barren  ways  and  chill 
Steep  ways  and  weary,  without  her  thou  art.  .  .  ." 

ROSSETTI. 

GEIGER-HANS  laid  the  flowers  on  his  knee  and,  still 
staring  at  them  with  the  eyes  of  mingled  horror  and 
grief,  gathered  his  instrument  to  his  embrace  and 
drew  from  it  a  strain  the  like  of  which  Steven  had 
never  heard.  Low  and  simple  it  was,  with  even  a 
delicate  lilt,  as  of  the  shadow-dance  of  bygone  joys, 
yet  so  heart-rending  that,  after  a  moment  or  two,  the 
listener  felt  tears  rising  to  his  eyes  and  a  catch  at 
his  throat,  and  cried  on  his  companion  to  stop. 

The  musician  laid  down  his  fiddle  and  turned  his 
drawn  countenance  upon  his  companion. 

"That  is  the  melody  in  the  violets,  the  melody  that 
is  never  silent  in  my  soul,  night  or  day.  You  can- 
not hear  it?  Why,  then,  you  must  listen  to  the 
story.  —  I  was  once  as  youthful  as  you  and  had 
255 


256  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

also  a  very  noble  pride  —  I  had  nearly  as  much 
reason,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  his  pale  lips  writhing 
in  a  smile  of  scorn;  "but,  as  men  differ,  their  same 
passions  vary  in  motive.  It  was  of  little  moment 
to  me  that  I  came  of  an  ancient  house.  (Ah !  it 
pleases  you  to  know  so  much !  You  have  always 
guessed  it,  else  had  you  not  frequented  me.  Let  it 
pass,  friend,  lest  I  should  blush  for  you.)  No,  my 
pride  was  the  pride  of  intellect.  I  knew  a  vast 
amount !  I  learned  to  lisp  English  that  I  might 
study  Bacon  and  Locke,  and  to  chew  German  that 
I  might  wrangle  over  Kant.  I  was  the  friend  of  Hel- 
vetius  and  Diderot,  the  rival  of  Holbach.  We  wor- 
shipped Voltaire.  Reason  was  our  God !  In  short, 
I  was  one  of  those  they  called  the  Encyclopaedists ;  we 
dreamed  of  doing  away  with  old  Abuses  and  re- 
placing all  established  things  by  brand-new  Perfec- 
tions. '  Humanity  and  Freedom ! '  was  our  war- 
cry.  With  sweet-oil  and  rose-water  our  revolution 
was  to  be  accomplished.  You  know  what  we  did 
for  France  and  the  world?  We  set  the  first  stone 
rolling,  a  half-century  ago,  and"  —with  a  tragic 
gesture  he  pointed  to  the  valley  —  "you  can  hear 
the  echo  of  it  still  reverberating  down  yonder! 
Freedom  we  preached:  and  the  whole  world  is  en- 
slaved as  never  it  was  before !  Reason  was  our 


The  Melody  in  the    Violets  257 

lodestar :  and  the  State  Was  handed  over  to  the  low- 
est intellects  to  guide  it  according  to  their  brute 
passions !  Humanity  was  our  watchword :  and 
France  was  drenched  in  blood  from  end  to  end,  and 
her  sons  have  brought  blood  and  fire  to  every  land  in 
Europe !  The  blood  of  that  wretched  son  of  the 
steppes  blackening  yonder  on  the  road,  the  blood 
shed  in  yonder  bullet-riddled  village  by  that  very 
volley  that  shakes  us  as  we  sit,  is  all  offered  to  the 
honour  of  that  same  trinity  of  our  invention :  Free- 
dom, Humanity  .  .  .  and  Reason !  Oh,  glorious 
was  the  path  we  opened !  Had  we  not  just  cause 
for  pride?" 

He  fell  silent  a  second;  and  Steven  dared  not 
speak,  so  corrosive  was  the  bitterness  of  his  every 
word,  so  poignant  the  emotion  written  on  every 
furrow  of  his  countenance. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  golden  time!"  he  resumed.  "We 
philosophized  up  to  the  steps  of  Versailles.  Louis 
made  beautiful  locks;  Marie  Antoinette  tended 
snowy  sheep;  the  roses  bloomed  at  Trianon  .  .  . 
and  not  the  wisest  of  us  ever  saw  the  precipice  yawn  ! 
As  for  me  —  even  the  greatest  minds  are  subject 
to  the  everyday  passions  of  humanity  — "  his  lips 
parted  upon  an  ironic  smile  —  "I  fell  in  love,  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  most  elementary  youngster 


258  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

of  the  land.  She "  He  hesitated;  then, 

steadying  his  voice,  proceeded  in  tones  which  be- 
trayed the  effort  of  speech:  "she  was  of  an  old- 
fashioned  Breton  stock,  and  her  ideas  and  mine  were 
as  the  poles  asunder.  But  upon  one  common 
ground,  and  a  fair  pasture  it  was  to  me,  we  met 
and  were  equal:  we  loved." 

He  paused,  his  breath  came  quick.  "Heaven!" 
he  said,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  knew  not  that  he 
spoke,  "how  I  loved  her!" 

He  picked  up  a  violet  from  the  heap  on  his  knees, 
and  passed  his  fingers  over  it  caressingly ;  his  coun- 
tenance softened.  When  he  began  again,  it  was  in 
gentler  accents  than  Steven  had  ever  heard  him  use : 

"When  two  people  love  each  other,  young  man, 
and  when  each  believes  the  other  to  be  mistaken  in 
some  cardinal  point  of  judgment,  the  dearest  thought 
they  cherish  is  to  bring  the  Beloved  to  the  truth.  I 
had  no  doubt  but  that  I  could  open  her  mind ;  she, 
but  that  she  would  redeem  my  perverted  soul.  I 
have  told  you  what  a  fine  pride  I  had.  So  noble  it 
was  that  I  was  proud  of  my  pride.  And  being  an 
apostle  of  Liberty,  the  idea  that  a  woman  should 
resist  her  husband,  that  the  weaker  vessel  should  not 
give  way  to  the  stronger,  never  dawned  on  my  eman- 
cipated mind  !  Well,  well  —  we  quarrelled  !  The 


The  Melody  in  the  Violets  259 

fault  was  mine.  Could  I  not  have  been  content  to 
worship  her  in  her  sweet  faith !  She  had  a  high 
spirit.  I  wounded  her  in  a  thousand  ways.  Women 
have  susceptibilities  that  we,  thick-hided,  thick- 
witted,  dream  not  of.  Even  when  we  touch  them 
to  caress,  we  bruise.  And  then,  when  their  pain  is 
intolerable  and  they  turn  and  strike  at  us,  our 
wound  is  that  of  the  most  innocent,  the  most  injured  ! 
Oh,  when  my  measure  was  full  against  her,  she  in- 
sulted me,  if  you  like  —  much  as  your  little  bride 
this  morning  insulted  your  Highmindedness.  She 
said  words  that  my  exquisite  pride  could  not  endure. 
Of  course,  you  will  well  understand  (being  even  such 
a  self-respecting  youth  as  I  was  then)  that  I  had  no 
choice  but  to  leave  her.  That  was  right,  was  it  not  ?" 

Steven,  under  that  terrible  gaze,  ironic  even  in 
its  haunting  agony,  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply.  He 
muttered  something  of  a  woman's  duty  and  wifely 
submission.  The  fiddler  caught  up  the  words 
fiercely. 

"Ay,"  cried  he.  "A  woman's  duty  —  wifely 
submission.  Oh,  strange  how  men  prate  of  chivalry, 
in  the  exercise  of  their  bodily  strength,  because  of 
a  woman's  weakness,  and  yet  never  see  that,  because 
also  of  a  woman's  sensitiveness  of  soul,  a  man  should 
take  shame  to  parade  the  superior  strength  of  his 


260  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

will  —  that  he  should  spare  the  delicate  spirit  as  well 
as  the  delicate  frame.  Listen :  —  my  strength  of 
mind  was  such  that  it  left  me  no  choice  but  to  desert 
the  woman  whom  I  had  vowed  to  protect,  to  make 
parade  of  my  manhood  by  leaving  her  to  live  her 
own  life  alone,  to  cast  the  frail  and  lovely  thing  I 
had  held  in  my  arms  away  from  my  love  and  guardian- 
ship. No  doubt,  no  doubt,  I  made  some  very  gen- 
erous dispositions  as  regards  my  fortune  —  even  as 
you  now  propose  towards  Madame  Sidonia,  and  she 
had  her  people  to  go  to,  even  as  your  wife  has: 
those  whom  she  had  given  up  to  come  to  me.  But  when 
the  day  dawned  that  I  had  to  look  into  my  heart 
and  read  the  truth,  what  did  I  see  ?  Look  into  your 
heart  now,  and  learn  the  baseness  of  your  own 
motives.  Why  do  you  leave  your  bride?  Why  did 
I  leave  mine  ?  For  what  reason,  but  that  she  might 
weep  and  mourn  for  me ;  that  she  might  learn  how 
precious  was  the  jewel  she  had  not  appreciated ! 
.  .  .  To  be  revenged  .  .  .  revenged  on  the  Beloved  ! " 

He  flung  himself  back  against  the  bole  of  the  fir 
that  rose  behind  him  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"I  left  her,"  he  went  on,  "left  France,  left  Europe. 
I  went  to  America,  the  new  home  of  Freedom,  the 
only  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth  where  the  god- 
dess was  worshipped  as  she  should  be.  I  had  vowed 


The  Melody  in  the    Violets  261 

not  to  return  till  recalled:  I  was  summoned  by  a 
voice  terribly  different  from  hers.  It  took  three 
months  before  the  noise  of  the  storm  reached  me  on 
that  far-off  shore,  and  I  knew  that  it  must  take  me  at 
least  a  month  more  ere  I  could  reach  her.  And  she 
was  in  danger !  .  .  .  I  think  it  was  then  I  began  to 
go  mad  —  for  it  is  understood  that  I  am  mad,  is  it 
not?" 

He  opened  his  bright  eyes  and  fixed  them  on 
Steven,  who  became  so  extremely  embarrassed  that 
the  fiddler  broke  into  unmirthful  laughter. 

"Mad!"  he  repeated.  His  gaze  flickered;  and, 
if  truth  be  told,  he  looked  none  too  sane.  Then  he 
sank  his  head  between  his  hands  with  a  groan. 
"If  only  I  were  a  little  madder!"  he  cried.  "The 
story  is  nearly  finished,"  he  went  on  presently,  in 
a  new,  toneless  voice.  "When  I  landed  in  France, 
all  the  powers  of  the  Hell  my  superior  intellect 
denied  were  let  loose  in  the  land  —  Dan  ton,  Marat 
and  Robespierre  represented  the  trilogy  of  Liberty, 
Reason  and  Humanity !  The  prisons  were  full,  the 
guillotine  everywhere  restless.  .  .  .  Our  Golden 
Age !  .  .  .  A  fortnight  I  looked  for  her.  Have 
you  ever  sought  in  vain  one  you  had  loved,  even  for 
an  hour?  Dante  never  devised  a  more  exquisite 
torture  for  his  deepest  circle.  My  house  in  Paris 


262  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

had  been  confiscated  for  the  nation's  soldiers;  her 
father's  castle  in  Lorraine  had  been  burnt  to  the 
ground.  At  my  old  home  at  Nancy  at  last  I  found 
a  trace.  She  had  refused,  it  seemed,  to  join  in  the 
flight  of  her  people  across  the  Rhine;  but,  when 
trouble  became  threatening,  had  taken  up  her  post 
on  my  estate.  That  was  like  her.  She  had  been 
arrested  —  so  dangerous  an  enemy  of  the  people ! 

She  was  in  the  infamous  prison  at  Nancy.     She " 

He  flung  his  battered  old  hat  from  his  head,  dashed 
back  his  hair,  loosened  the  wide  collar  at  his  throat. 
Breath  seemed  to  fail  him.  A  dark  wave  of  blood 
rushed  to  his  forehead.  "All,  all  had  abandoned 
her,  save  one  poor  girl  —  a  peasant  from  our  farm, 
whose  people  were  of  the  local  patriots.  .  .  .  This 
girl  was  allowed  access  to  the  cells.  I  met  her  at 
the  prison  gates,  whither  my  frenzied  search  brought 
me  at  length.  She  knew  me,  though  I  was  a  tramp 
already.  At  sight  of  my  face,  she  clapped  her 
hands  and  broke  into  wild  sobs.  I  was  too  late ! 
That  morning.  .  .  .  Why  do  you  look  at  me  like 
that?  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  still  alive?  That 
is  where  the  God  I  denied  has  His  vengeance  of 
me,  you  see.  I  cannot  die.  Oh,  I  could  kill  my- 
self, of  course !  But,  mark  how  deep  has  the  Encyclo- 
paedist fallen.  ...  I  dare  not,  dare  not,  lest  I  lose 


The  Melody  in  the   Violets  263 

my  chance  of  meeting  her  again  I  .  .  .  Ah !  there 
is  great  pity  in  your  eyes.  .  .  .  Her  little  delicate 
head  —  she  held  it  like  a  queen's.  Under  the 
powder,  her  hair  was  gold.  (I  have  not  even  one 
lock  of  her  hair.)  I  used  to  clasp  her  slender  throat 
between  both  my  hands.  .  .  .  The  peasant  girl 
had  kept  by  her  to  the  end.  She  had  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  scaffold,  that  a  last  friendly  glance  might 
speed  that  lovely  soul.  'She  smiled  to  me,'  said  the 
poor  creature,  sobbing.  My  eyes  were  dry.  .  .  . 
Then  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a  bunch  of  violets, 
and  said,  'Madame,  les  avail  a  son  corsage.'  ..." 

Geiger-Hans  gathered  up  the  flowers  scattered 
on  his  knees,  and  crushed  them  against  his  face. 

"She  always  loved  violets,"  he  murmured. 
"These  have  no  scent,"  he  went  on  dreamily; 
"but  hers,  hers  —  oh,  they  were  sweet!" 

"Ah!  friend!"  cried  Steven,  and  had  no  further 
word.  Infinite  pity  indeed  was  in  the  look  he  turned 
upon  the  musician.  It  seemed  as  if  the  latter  wan- 
dered as  he  spoke  again. 

"There  was  blood  on  the  violets,"  said  he,  drop- 
ping his  hands,  "her  blood  and  mine  —  for  the  man 
that  was  I  died  too,  then,  murdered  in  his  youth, 
even  as  she."  His  face  had  grown  ashen  again, 
his  eyes  were  restless  in  their  orbits.  "The  some- 


264  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

thing  that  lived  on,  the  miserable  carcass,  the  old 
man  —  call  it  myself,  if  you  will  —  this  self  that  is 
before  you  now  —  it  took  the  violets  and  began  to 
walk  away.  .  .  .  And  it  has  walked  ever  since!" 
He  gave  a  laugh,  and  the  sound  of  it  was  mad.  "  No 
place  could  be  home  to  me  again  —  no  land  could 
be  country,  France  least  of  all.  But  the  skies  and 
the  trees  are  kind ;  they  understand  my  sorrow,  they 
take  it  into  themselves.  And  sometimes  they  give 
me  back  peace.  And  then  there's  the  music.  .  .  . 
I  was  always  a  musician.  One,  a  village  priest, 
found  out  by  accident  that  the  crazy  tramp  he  had 
sheltered  played  better  on  his  old  Strad  than  he  did 
himself.  The  fiddle  was  to  him  as  his  child,  but  he 
gave  it  to  me,  for  he  had  compassion  on  me.  .  .  . 
And  so  was  born  Geiger-Hans.  And  Fiddler  Hans 
and  his  fiddle  will  walk  until  one  day  he  can  walk 
no  more.  And  then  he  will  lie  down  on  the  kind, 
brown  earth,  and  turn  his  face  to  the  skies  .  .  . 
perhaps !" 

He  thrust  the  flowers  into  his  breast.  Then  he 
leaned  forward,  his  elbow  on  his  knees,  sheltering 
his  eyes  in  his  hands :  and  there  was  silence.  The 
valley  below  had  sunk  into  stillness. 

While  Steven  had  listened  to  the  story  of  one 
man's  defeat  in  life,  a  combat  where  the  fate  of 


"  She    always    Un-ett  violets.      These    //,/ry   no   scent,   .   .   .   but   hers, — 
oh,  thev  were  sweet!" 


The  Melody  in  the    Violets  265 

hundreds  had  been  decided  had  been  fought  and 
won.  And  now  they  were  picking  up  the  dead  yonder, 
in  the  evening  calm  of  the  plain.  The  wind  had 
fallen  with  the  fall  of  the  day,  and  only  the  topmost 
branches  of  the  pines  swayed  and  whispered  in 
scarcely  perceptible  airs.  The  light  was  growing 
golden  mellow,  the  shadows  were  lengthening. 
Steven  remembered  his  wound. 

The  fiddler  turned  and  spoke.  It  was  with  com- 
posure. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "which  way  shall  it  be;  back 
or  forward  ?  " 

'  I  do  not  know,"  said  Steven,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
dropped  his  eyelids  as  if  ashamed. 

The  fiddler  stretched  out  his  hand  and  helped 
the  other  to  rise,  with  a  vigorous  grasp.  As  they 
stood  side  by  side,  he  suddenly  cast  his  arm  round 
the  young  man's  shoulders. 

"The  child,"  said  he,  "Sidonia!  ...  Oh,  I 
want  her  to  be  happy.  The  first  day  I  ever  saw  her, 
I  thought  that  if  we  had  had  a  child,  the  woman  I 
loved  and  I,  it  would  have  been  like  her.  And,  to 
my  madness,  she  has  gradually  become  even  as 
my  own.  I  have  haunted  her  ways.  However 
imperiously  the  roaming  fit  may  come  upon  me, 
there  is  always  something  that  draws  me  back  to 


266  "If  Youth  but  Knew  I n 

watch,  to  guard,  to  care.  I  gave  her  to  you.  Aye, 
Count  Steven,  it  was  I  gave  her  to  you.  And  if 
again  I  have  failed  with  the  happiness  of  what  is 
dearest  to  me  on  earth  .  .  .  then  indeed  it  is  that 
I  am  cursed!"  His  voice  failed,  broken;  his  eyes 
implored.  After  a  while  he  went  on:  "When  her 
soul  looks  out  of  her  clear  eyes,  when  she  moves  her 
head  with  its  golden  burden  .  .  .  she  has  a  trick 
of  speech,  a  laugh  ...  Oh,  it  is  like  a  refrain  of  old 
music  to  me,  a  sighing  strain  from  a  lost  life !  Her 
little,  slender  throat  —  I  could  hold  it  in  both  my 
hands.  .  .  .  Go  back  to  her.  ...  If  I  knew  her 
happy,  my  restless  spirit  would,  I  believe,  find  some 
kind  of  peace.  Ah !  you  think  it  will  be  hard  ?  I 
tell  you  it  will  not.  You  do  not  know  a  woman's 
heart.  Forget  that  your  pride  is  hurt.  Remember 
that  you  are  young.  Oh,  if  you  but  knew!  Life 
has  one  unsurpassable  flower  for  youth  —  take  it 
now,  lest  a  breath  from  heaven  scatter  its  bloom. 
Its  scent  is  for  you  !  The  love  of  your  youth,  go, 
gather  it!  Go  back  to  little  Sidonia!" 

"I  will  go  back,"  said  Steven,  and  his  lips  trem- 
bled. 

Silently  Geiger-Hans  loosened  the  grey  horse, 
helped  the  wounded  man  to  mount,  and  led  the  way 
down  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   TRUE   READING   OF   A   LETTER 

"  Give  sorrow  words  :  the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  e'er-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break.1' 

(Macbeth). 

STEVEN,  in  his  turn,  had  a  tale  to  tell;  and,  as 
they  retraced  their  way  back  towards  the  Burg 
through  the  gathering  shadows,  he  narrated  to  the 
fiddler,  with  great  simplicity,  the  episode  with  the 
Burgravine  which  had  led  him,  first  into  the 
oubliette,  and  ultimately  to  the  quarrel  with 
Sidonia. 

Geiger-Hans  made  small  comment.  The  facts 
he  knew  already,  the  motives  he  had  shrewdly  sur- 
mised. Sometimes  he  smiled,  unseen  in  the  thick, 
moist  gloom ;  the  bright  day  had  turned  to  a  moody 
night,  heavy  clouded.  The  young  man's  ingenu- 
ousness pleased  him;  also  the  manliness  that  re- 
frained from  any  self-righteous  assertion  of  innocence. 
But  sometimes  he  sighed ;  it  was  a  tangled  story  ! 

When  they  reached  Wellenshausen  village,  it 
267 


268  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

was  evident  that  there  could  be  no  question  of  mak- 
ing the  ascent  to  the  Burg  till  the  next  morning. 
Rain  had  begun  to  fall.  Geiger-Hans  might  have 
faced  the  break-neck  road  —  doubly  hazardous  in 
the  wet  and  the  dark  —  but  he  flatly  refused  to  aid 
the  wounded  man  in  any  such  mad  undertaking, 
and  Steven's  impatience  had  to  submit  to  the 
inevitable. 

Steven  had  thought  to  have  measured  ere  this 
all  the  possibilities  of  the  Silver  Stork  in  the  matter  of 
discomfort.  But  in  a  house  now  thoroughly  dis- 
organized by  the  incursions  of  a  stray  detachment  of 
Jerome's  cavalry,  the  claims,  even  of  a  fastidious 
traveller,  not  to  speak  of  an  itinerant  musician,  were 
the  least  of  concerns  to-night. 

In  the  dismal,  rat-haunted  attic  which  he  shared 
with  the  bridegroom,  Geiger-Hans  heard  his  com- 
rade groan  and  toss  through  the  long  hours  of  his 
wedding-night.  If  sleep  fell  upon  the  young  man 
at  all,  it  was  broken  by  nightmare.  And  the  fiddler, 
lying  flat  on  his  back  with  his  hands  under  his  head, 
resignedly  facing  the  insomnia  which  his  restless 
spirit  knew  but  too  familiarly,  could  foretell  almost 
to  a  breath  the  span  of  troubled  unconsciousness, 
the  start,  the  half-groan  of  awakening.  And  he 
was  as  glad,  almost,  as  Steven  himself  when  the 


The  True  Reading  of  a  Letter          269 

white  face  of  dawn  began  stealthily  to  peer  through 
the  dormer  window. 

Geiger-Hans  glanced  two  or  three  times  sharply 
at  the  youth's  face  as  once  again  he  found  himself 
trudging  beside  him.  Steven  had  submitted  almost 
sullenly  to  all  the  musician's  arrangements;  in 
silence  had  mounted  the  mule  prepared  for  him ;  in 
silence  had  they  started  on  their  upward  way.  The 
vagrant  breasted  the  rugged  path  with  his  usual 
activity;  but  his  countenance  was  dark  with  con- 
cern. He  did  not  like  the  glassy  stare  of  Steven's 
eyes,  the  alternate  pallor  and  flush  on  his  cheek, 
the  blackened,  cracked  look  of  the  lips. 

"Madame  Sidonia  will  have  some  nursing  to  do, 
I  think,"  he  said  once. 

Steven  gave  a  wan  smile,  quite  a  long  time  after 
the  words  had  been  spoken.  He  was  beginning  to 
lose  his  original  frenzy  of  intention  in  this  early 
morning  start ;  to  think  only  of  the  rapture  of  lying 
between  cool  sheets  in  some  dark  place,  with  Sido- 
nia's  flower  touch  upon  his  throbbing  temples. 

After  the  wet  night  had  broken  a  gay  morning  — 
the  rain-beaten  earth  was  fragrant;    fragrant  every 
tiny  sprig  of  herb  and  spicy  rock- clinging  bush.     As 
they  ascended,  the  pleasant  wood-smoke  from  the 


270  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

village  hearths  gradually  gave  place  to  the  more 
subtle  pungencies  of  the  heights.  All  this,  however, 
was  wasted  upon  Steven.  And  wasted,  too,  the 
gaunt  picturesqueness  of  their  first  view  of  the 
castle,  with  the  golden  early  sunshine  upon  the  grim- 
ness  of  its  walls,  caressing  the  ruin,  gleaming  back 
from  the  defiant  granite  of  the  keep. 

The  dogs  bayed,  a  flock  of  rooks  rose,  beating  the 
air  at  their  approach;  a  brown  donkey,  heavily 
saddled,  hitched  by  the  bridle  to  a  bar  of  the  open 
gate,  flapped  his  ears  and  turned  his  patient  coun- 
tenance, mildly  surprised,  upon  them. 

The  door  to  the  hall,  barred  and  nail-studded,  so 
inhospitable  as  a  rule,  stood  open.  It  was  a  vastly 
different  scene  from  that  of  the  evening  of  their  first 
visit  —  when  they  stood,  a  pair  of  adventurers 
wrapped  in  mist,  before  the  castle,  seeking  admittance 
to  walls  apparently  as  impenetrable  as  any  in  fairy- 
lore.  Steven  was  here,  now,  by  his  right,  to  claim 
his  own,  and  all  lay  in  the  sunshine,  strangely  peace- 
ful, the  open  door  seeming  to  forestall  a  welcome. 
But  the  fiddler  was  seized  with  boding.  There  are 
grim  visages  upon  which  the  sight  of  a  smile  strikes 
misgivings :  such  was  now  the  face  of  the  Burg. 

The  voice  of  a  woman  singing  lustily  within  some 
distant  chamber  smote  his  ear,  as  he  lifted  a  hand 


The  True  Reading  of  a  Letter          271 

for  the  bell  chain;  and  he  shook  his  head.  Even 
before  Martin,  the  doorman,  put  in  an  appearance, 
shuffling  out  of  the  kind  of  kennel  where  he  lurked 
upon  that  watch  which  had  been  his  for  thirty  years, 
Geiger-Hans  knew  what  had  occurred.  Martin, 
with  red  waistcoat  unbuttoned,  a  china  pipe  hang- 
ing from  his  jeering  lip,  slippers  on  his  feet,  and  the 
froth  of  bridal  beer  running  down  his  chin,  stared  in 
amazement  at  the  sight  of  the  travellers;  then  wel- 
comed them  with  the  heartiness  of  the  slightly  ele- 
vated. 

"The  noble  family  have  all  departed,"  he  cried 
quickly;  and  presently  chuckled,  leering  at  the 
bridegroom  who  sat  stiffly  on  the  mule,  as  if  he  neither 
heard  nor  saw. 

Some  one  came  trotting  into  the  hall,  softly  on 
list  soles,  in  a  great  bustle.  It  was  the  Forest- 
Mother.  Her  pleasant  face  wore  an  unwonted  air 
of  seriousness,  and  her  lips  were  pursed  as  upon 
solemn  thought.  But  never  had  she  been  to  Geiger- 
Hans  a  more  comfortable  spectacle. 

At  sight  of  him  her  hands  were  flung  up  in  wonder; 
and,  at  further  glimpse  of  the  rider  without,  they 
hovered  in  mid-air,  as  if  paralyzed. 

"Alas,  Onkel  —  too  late!  All  away,  yesterday 
—  and  the  child's  heart  bursting.  Aye,  it  is  all 


272  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

mighty  queer  and  sad.  I  little  thought  I  should  be 
making  for  home  again  this  morning,  with  every- 
thing so  criss-cross  and  wrong  and  strange  !" 

Geiger-Hans  made  a  sudden  stride  out  of  the  hall 
back  to  the  side  of  the  mule. 

"Down  with  you,  comrade,"  he  said,  with  that 
note  of  gentleness  in  his  voice  which,  so  far,  only 
Sidonia  had  known.  Steven,  after  a  pause  for 
comprehension,  turned  towards  the  speaker  with 
his  feeble  smile,  and  suddenly  swayed. 

"Nay,  mother,"  the  fiddler  called  out  as  he 
caught  the  lad  in  his  arms,  "you  mistake;  there 
will  be  no  going  home  for  you  for  some  time  to  come." 
***** 

"Ach!  the  poor  young  gentleman,"  sighed  the 
Forest-Mother,  when  she  had  heard  the  tale.  And 
that  was  not  until  Steven's  fever-dream  had  been 
realized,  and  he  lay  between  cool  sheets  in  a  dark 
room;  though,  indeed,  for  Sidonia 's  flower  touch 
he  had  to  put  up  with  Mrs.  Forester's  large  plump 
hand.  Not  that  it  made  much  difference  either 
just  then,  for  he  was  somewhat  rambling  in  his 
mind.  "Ach,  the  poor  young  gentleman,  it  is  a 
real  talent  he  has  for  coming  in  the  way  of  blows !" 

"He  has  a  talent  for  mending,  too,  remember," 
said  the  fiddler,  shortly.  His  dry  tone  concealed 


The  True  Reading  of  a  Letter  273 

a  real  anxiety.  Young  things,  as  he  knew,  took 
blows  of  body  and  soul  hard.  A  poisoned  wound 
is  bad  enough  in  itself,  without  a  sore  heart  and  a 
mind  ill  at  rest.  ...  He  could  not  leave  the  lad  — 
that  was  clear.  ' '  Where  have  they  taken  the  child  ? ' ' 
he  asked. 

"Sidonia?    Ach  —  she  kept  her  lips  close  as  wax 
and  never  told  me  a  word  —  not  even  me,  the  old 
mother!     But  that  French  minx  of  the  Lady  Bur- 
gravine  did  nought  but  chatter  of  Cassel." 

The  word  fell  like  a  stone  on  Geiger- Hans'  heart. 
It  was  almost  with  impatience  that  he  glanced  at 
the  long,  helpless  figure  in  the  bed.  The  young 
man  ought  to  be  up  and  doing!  .  .  .  Cassel, 
seething  pot  of  intrigue  and  low  manoeuvre,  paradise 
of  spendthrifts,  adventurers,  scoundrels,  it  was  the 
last  place  on  earth  for  the  guileless  fugitive  bride  — 
and  Betty  the  born  schemer.  But,  if  life  had  taught 
this  wanderer  anything,  it  was  submission  to  the 
inevitable. 

For  the  moment  nothing  could  be  done  but  to 
nurse  the  sick  man.  Some  vague  thought  of  send- 
ing a  message  to  Sidonia,  to  tell  her  of  her  bride- 
groom's pass,  flashed  into  his  mind,  only  to  be 
dismissed.  The  chances  of  any  communication 
reaching  her  were  remote.  He  could  not  go  himself. 


274  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

And,  could  he  have  done  so,  some  inner  conviction 
told  him  that  here  he  had  best  not  interfere.  Be- 
tween the  tree  and  the  bark  let  none  put  his  finger. 
The  lovers  must  win  back  to  each  other  without  any 
further  meddling.  He  was  not  certain  that  the 
separation,  the  very  anger,  misunderstanding  and 
soreness,  might  not  be  working  for  the  best.  They 
all  had  gone  too  fast,  they  had  made  too  sure.  Steven 
had  been  an  over- confident  wooer :  little  Sidonia  too 
ready  to  be  won. 

Geiger-Hans  and  the  Forest- Mother  made  a 
tolerable  existence  for  themselves  within  those  sullen 
walls  that  had  certainly  never  before  beheld  such 
free  humours  as  the  wanderer's,  such  cosiness  and 
comfort  as  the  Frau  Ober-Forsterin's.  Truth  to 
say,  from  the  instant  the  sick  man  was  put  into  her 
care,  the  old  dame  became  possessed  of  excellent 
spirits.  Every  one  has  a  special  ideal  of  happiness. 
Nursing  chanced  to  be  hers :  nursing  of  men,  be  it 
understood,  preferably  young  men  —  no  harm  if 
they  were  good-looking  —  and  wounds  her  speciality. 
She  had  salves  that  would,  she  was  proud  to  say, 
make  the  bark  grow  on  a  lopped  tree.  As  for 
poisoned  hurts,  had  she  not,  she  alone,  brought  her 
Friedel  round  after  he  had  been  gored  and  trampled 


The   True  Reading  of  a  Letter  275 

upon  by  the  stag?  And  as  for  febrifuges  and  herb- 
teas,  if  she  had  been  willing  to  sell  her  secrets,  she 
had  not  a  doubt  about  it,  she  now  might  be  a  rich 
woman. 

On  the  fifth  morning,  a  tan-faced  boy,  with  wild 
eyes  looking  from  side  to  side,  like  a  bird's,  came 
pattering  up  into  the  Burg,  having  defied  the  crags 
with  hardened  bare  feet.  He  brought  a  letter  which 
had  reached  the  Forest-House  the  night  before, 
addressed  to  its  mistress. 

The  Forest-Mother  took  it  from  the  fiddler's 
hand,  with  many  winks  and  pointings  towards  the 
great  bed  whereon  her  charge  lay  asleep.  She 
betook  herself  to  the  window  and  began  to  peruse, 
with  some  labour,  forming  each  word  with  her  lips 
as  she  went  on. 

The  fiddler  had  recognized  Sidonia's  character- 
istic hand,  upright  and  painstaking.  Presently 
the  good  woman,  shaking  her  head,  folded  the  sheet 
and,  coming  over  to  the  fiddler  with  her  noiseless 
yet  ponderous  tread,  placed  the  missive  back  into 
his  hand. 

The  fiddler  read : 

"BELOVED  LITTLE  FOREST- MOTHER, 

"I  promised  to  write.     I  am  very  well,  but  I 
wish  I  were  back  with  you  in  the  dear  green  forest. 


276  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Greet  good  Friedel  for  me.  Tell  him  not  to  forget 
to  give  the  white  doe  a  piece  of  rye  bread  from  me 
every  day.  And  it  would  be  kind  of  him  to  take 
old  Belthazar  out  with  him  now  and  again,  if  only 
for  a  short  round.  I  know  he  is  old  and  stiff;  but 
the  dear  old  fellow  breaks  his  heart  to  be  left  behind 
when  all  the  young  dogs  are  taken  out.  And,  dear 
Forest-Mother,  when  you  go  by  the  kennels,  will  you 
give  him  a  pat  for  me?  And  you  might  just  tell 
him  that  he  is  worth  all  the  silly  young  things  put 
together,  and  that  the  kennels  had  never  such  a  fine 
dog  as  he.  I  am  sure  he  understands,  and  it  will 
hearten  him  up.  And,  when  you  see  Geiger-Onkel, 
teU  him  I  think  of  him,  and  that  his  airs  keep  play- 
ing in  my  head.  But  always  the  sad  ones.  And 
tell  him,  too,  that  I  never  was  a  fairy  princess,  but 
only  a  silly  country  girl.  This  is  a  place  all  streets 
and  houses,  and  it  is  very  noisy.  Everybody  seems 
running  about,  but  I  do  not  know  what  they  do. 
I  don't  like  it,  but  it  is  better  for  me  to  be  here  than 
at  the  Burg.  Of  course  we  are  at  the  Palace.  Aunt 
Betty  did  not  like  Uncle  Ludo's  apartment  on  the 
ground  floor,  so  we  have  a  great  suite  of  rooms  to 
ourselves  in  a  wing.  It  is  all  gold  and  silk,  and  very 
grand.  But,  oh,  I  would  rather  have  the  old  Forest- 
House  kitchen,  with  the  rafters  and  the  little  windows, 


The  True  Reading  of  a  Letter  277 

and  all  the  wood  presses  smelling  so  good  of  bees- 
wax! 

"Aunt  Betty  says  it  is  very  dull  at  Cassel  just 
now,  because  the  king  is  still  away.  Next  week, 
she  says,  it  will  be  very  different  when  he  returns. 
But  it  seems  to  me  that  she  is  always  out  at  parties. 
I  have  no  dresses  yet.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  left  at 
home.  So  I  am  quiet  here,  but  oh,  it  is  not  the  quiet 
of  the  forest.  Thou  Forest- Mother,  I  wish  I  could 
kiss  thee. 

"SlDONIA. 

"I  hope  the  old  jackdaw  is  well." 

"Na,"  said  the  old  lady,  who  had  watched  him 
reading,  her  arms  folded  over  her  deep  bosom, 
"what  manner  of  letter  is  this  at  all  for  a  bride  who 
has  run  away  from  her  man?  That  is  verily  but  a 
foolish  child.  She  was  too  young  to  be  wed,  eh, 
Geiger-Onkel?" 

"That  is  the  letter  of  a  suffering  woman,"  quoth 
Geiger-Hans,  softly,  "and  the  whole  letter,  Mother 
Friedel,  is  one  cry  towards  him." 

"  Jeminy,  and  where  do  you  see  that?"  whispered 
the  dame  with  a  shrug  for  the  poor  loony.  "Well," 
she  added,  in  her  cheerful  undertone,  "we've  had  a 
splendid  night,  our  skin  is  as  cool  as  a  little  frog's, 
and  we  are  healing  as  quick  as  a  sapling.  I  wouldn't 


278  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

say  but  that  in  another  couple  of  weeks  we  might 
be  quite  able  to  travel." 

Geiger-Hans  looked  at  the  bed,  at  the  fine  sleeping 
face,  placidly  and  wholesomely  pale,  at  the  charm- 
ing languid  hand  flung  in  abandonment  on  the 
purple  coverlet. 

"Mother  Friedel,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 
none  the  less  decided  because  so  low  pitched,  "three 
days  must  see  us  on  the  road  again." 

Heedless  of  her  scandalized  protest  he  folded  the 
letter  and,  thrusting  it  into  his  breast,  gave  himself 
up  to  reflection.  A  smile,  half-bitter,  half-tender, 
hovered  upon  his  lips.  The  child  .  .  .  she  had 
remembered  him  —  after  her  old  hound. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT   THE   MOCK   VERSAILLES 

"  You  are  just  a  porcelain  trifle, 

Belle  Marquise ! 
Just  a  thing  of  puffs  and  patches, 
Made  for  madrigals  and  catches, 
Not  for  heart-wounds,  but  for  scratches,  .  ,  ." 
AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

VIENNESE  Betty  was  in  Cassel;  and  if  ever  the 
right  person  was  in  the  right  place,  it  was  Betty  in 
Cassel,  the  Frenchified  Cassel  at  least  of  King 
Jerome.  She  breathed  in  its  irresponsible,  ex- 
citing, immoral  atmosphere  with  rapture.  Its  tin- 
foil splendour  was  utterly  satisfying  to  her  eyes; 
its  jests  provoked  her  charmed  laughter;  its  aims 
measured  her  utmost  ambitions.  To  shine  among 
these  doubtful  stars;  to  take  the  lead  in  frivolities, 
without  fear  of  losing  caste  —  nay,  with  every  pros- 
pect of  being  lifted  upon  giddy  triumph  as  the  newest 
and  most  influential  "  pompadourette "  —  even  in 
her  dreams  Betty  had  never  devised  for  herself  a 
more  enchanting  prospect !  To  make  the  thing 

279 


280  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

complete,  her  Bluebeard  was  tame,  absolutely  at 
her  mercy  .  .  .  and  held  relentlessly  at  a  distance. 

At  the  first  sight  of  a  scowl,  at  the  first  rumple  of 
that  brow  that  used  to  strike  terror,  at  the  first  threat 
of  breaking  through  her  imposed  barriers,  Betty 
had  but  to  prattle  airily  of  "oubliettes"  (strangely 
inappropriate  term  for  dark  doings  that  never  could 
be  forgotten),  or  yet  to  fall  into  alarming  pamoisons, 
into  fits  of  shuddering,  artistically  simulated,  ac- 
companied by  apparently  wandering  yet  exceedingly 
suggestive  speech  —  and  the  Burgrave  was  forth- 
with reduced  to  a  jelly. 

The  Burgrave  was  indeed  an  altered  being,  went 
moodily,  found  his  cup  bitter  and  his  food  savour- 
less, while  the  Burgravine,  tasting  all  the  delights  of 
freedom,  fluttered  through  her  first  week  in  Cassel 
like  a  butterfly  through  a  flower  garden  under  full 
sunshine.  A  butterfly  she  was,  upon  one  side  of  her 
nature ;  but,  upon  another,  capable  of  determination 
and  deep-seated  resentments.  True,  she  had  other 
and,  to  her  mind,  better  quarry  to  pursue  now  than 
Beau  Cousin  Kielmansegg  —  a  mere  rich  young 
nobleman;  yet  it  added  not  a  little  to  the  fulness  of 
her  gratification  to  know  that  she  had  successfully 
parted  him  from  Sidonia. 

The  evening  after  her  visit  to  Napoleonshohe 


At  the  Mock  Versailles  281 

found  her  in  the  most  delicate  of  rose-powdered 
wrappers,  seated  at  her  writing-table  in  the  window 
of  her  boudoir,  so  prodigiously  content  with  herself 
and  existence  that  little  snatches  of  song,  little 
trills  of  laughter,  escaped  her,  as  she  pondered  over 
her  correspondence. 

It  was  towards  the  hour  of  seven,  and  the  gardens 
beneath  her  windows  (so  satisfying  to  Betty's  taste) 
with  their  mock  Versailles  elaboration,  were  bathed 
in  mellow  light.  The  statues  took  golden  hues  and 
flung  a  long  fantastic  shadow.  The  fountains 
flashed  and  tinkled.  Some  one  was  practising 
French  airs  on  the  clarinet  in  a  room  below.  A  gust 
of  mingled  flower-scents  rose  up  to  her  nostrils: 
the  pungency  of  clove  pink,  the  coarser  incense  of 
white  lilies,  and  the  nearer  breath  of  the  climbing 
rose-tree  that  aspired  towards  her  window. 

Betty  was  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  be  con- 
sciously grateful  for  any  offering  of  nature ;  she  was 
merely  aware  of  a  general  flattering  of  the  senses 
which  added  to  her  content. 

A  few  days  ago,  at  Napoleonshohe,  she  had  met 
Jerome  of  Westphalia  for  the  first  time.  And  what 
a  truly  charming  man !  Not  a  hint  of  the  plebeian 
Corsican  about  him.  No  —  they  maligned  who 
said  so.  What  manners,  what  courtesy  and  dash 


282  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

combined !  What  a  delightful  smile !  What  an 
eye !  It  was  rumoured  that  strong  men  shivered 
under  the  glance  of  his  great  imperial  brother.  If 
you  had  asked  her,  Betty  would  have  told  you  that, 
from  all  accounts,  Napoleon  seemed  to  her  a  dis- 
tinctly overrated  individual  —  a  boor,  who  would 
chuck  a  lady  under  the  chin  or  take  her  by  the  ear, 
as  though  she  were  a  grenadier.  Bah  !  —  Nay,  give 
her  the  agreeable  thrill  of  coming  beneath  Jerome's 
meaning  gaze.  A  delicious  recurrence  of  the  sensa- 
tion crept  through  her  frame  as,  with  closed  eyes, 
she  recalled  the  moment  .  .  .  Jerome's  first  sight 
of  her,  his  start,  his  stare,  his  flickering  smile. 

On  the  table  lay  the  very  rose  he  had  presented 
to  her  with  such  a  curve  of  slender  olive  fingers; 
with  so  happy  a  phrase,  so  graceful  an  inclination. 
Betty  had  handled  the  flower  a  good  deal  since,  had 
sniffed  and  caressed  it  a  vast  number  of  times;  the 
pretty  leaves  were  blighted,  but  never  did  flower 
excite  such  admiration  in  the  Burgravine's  regard. 

She  had  met  the  King  but  a  day  or  two  ago; 
they  had  exchanged  but  a  glance,  a  word,  a  courtesy 
—  and  behold  !  Betty's  morning  courier  had  brought 
her  a  letter  from  the  monarch.  A  love  letter,  if  you 
please,  neither  more  nor  less.  A  request,  a  demand, 
for  a  rendezvous.  Peste!  he  lost  no  time,  the  little 


At  the  Mock    Versailles  283 

King !  But  were  there  not  royal  privileges  ?  Had 
he  not  the  same  blood  as  the  Conqueror  in  his  veins  ? 
Moreover,  was  not  this  very  haste  the  best  compli- 
ment that  could  be  paid  a  woman?  Not,  indeed, 
that  Betty  had  any  notion  of  allowing  herself  to  go 
too  cheaply.  Perhaps,  indeed,  she  had  no  very  clear 
idea  of  letting  herself  go  at  all ;  but  to  dally  with  an 
exciting  situation,  to  tantalize,  to  reign,  to  fire,  and 
then  dash  cold  water.  .  .  .  Stay,  such  coarse  ex- 
pressions ill  applied  to  the  Burgravine's  delicate 
methods :  to  spray,  very  gently,  with  cold  rose-water ; 
not  sufficiently  to  drown  the  lover's  ardour,  but  just 
enough  to  produce  a  little  fizz  and  splutter  —  to 
reign,  in  fact,  chief  of  the  many  sultanas  by  reason, 
perhaps,  of  her  very  refusal  to  qualify  for  the  post ! 
And  only  to  yield  at  last  when  .  .  .  But  here 
Betty  was  glad  to  allow  the  prospect  to  be  veiled  in 
a  kind  of  luminous  mist.  The  immediate  pro- 
gramme was  quite  sufficiently  absorbing. 

No  wonder  she  nibbled  the  feathers  of  her  pen. 
Her  answer  to  the  kingly  missive  must  be  a  work  of 
art.  The  ''rendezvous"  itself  must  not  be  denied, 
whatever  else  it  might  deny.  Betty  had  the  instinct 
of  her  species,  the  born  coquette.  Too  much  virtue, 
at  the  beginning,  is  fatal.  Many  twigs  are  required 
for  the  lighting  of  a  proper  fire. 


284  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

It  stood  complete  at  last,  a  most  dainty  little  note, 
indited  on  pink  paper,  duly  folded  and  enclosed  in 
a  French  envelope,  wafered  with  mauve  — Betty  was 
of  the  last  mode,  these  days,  even  to  her  writing 
paper. 

The  congenial  task  concluded,  she  had  another 
to  perform.  The  courier  from  Heiligenstadt,  whither 
the  King  had  repaired  on  a  tour  of  military  inspec- 
tion, had  brought  her  a  second  letter  —  also  a  love 
cry,  or  it  might  better  be  described  as  a  love-bellow. 
The  Burgrave,  away  on  duty  with  his  sovereign, 
appealed  from  a  distance  to  his  obdurate  wife. 

He  was  filled  with  amorous  longing,  jealousy, 
despair.  How  long  was  he  to  be  exiled  from  her 
favour  ?  The  situation  was  past  endurance !  He 
implored,  groaned,  rebelled,  threatened,  and  was 
abject  again  —  all  in  a  few  frenzied  lines.  The  gist 
of  the  whole  was  in  the  last  phrase:  "When  am  I 
to  be  forgiven?  Am  I  not  your  husband?" 

The  answer  to  this  effusion  required  but  a  flourish 
of  the  pen.  Yet,  as  the  lady  planted  a  green  wafer 
upon  the  second  envelope,  there  was  a  triumphant 
smile  upon  her  lip,  a  vindictive  gleam  of  pleasure  in 
her  eye.  The  despatching  of  her  morning  budget 
had  been  altogether  pleasurable. 

rj*  ?j»  .  *f«  ifi  5|* 


At  the  Mock  Versailles  285 

Close  by,  in  the  little  chamber  allotted  to  her, 
Sidonia,  behind  locked  doors,  was  engaged  upon 
a  similar  task;  for  to  her  the  courier  had  also 
brought  a  letter  demanding  instant  acknowledg- 
ment. It  was  a  very  short  one,  and  by  no  means 
so  loverlike  as  either  of  Betty's  billets. 

"I  have  been  slightly  indisposed"  (wrote  Steven) 
"and  unable  to  travel  for  a  few  days;  but  I  trust  to 
be  in  Cassel  within  the  week,  and  shall  seek  you  in 
the  Palace.  It  must  be  clear  to  you  that  you  owe 
me  at  least  an  explanation.  It  is  impossible  that 

we  can  part  for  ever  thus. 

"STEVEN." 

Not  a  word  of  love  !  Not  a  hint  of  despair !  Not 
even  reproach !  It  was  all  cold,  cruel  business.  As 
Sidonia  wrote  her  reply,  the  tears  dripped  so  quickly 
that  she  could  scarce  see  the  paper. 

Eliza,  very  brisk  and  tripping,  who  had  the  charge 
of  posting  the  three  letters,  studied  the  superscrip- 
tions very  carefully  before  committing  them  to  the 
royal  mail.  Her  eyes  grew  round  at  sight  of  the 
pink-wafered  note.  Diable!  If  the  mistress  had 
such  correspondence,  it  might  become  a  question 
whether  Jager  Kurtz  would  continue  to  be  good 
enough  for  the  maid.  She  smiled  vindictively  at 


286  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

sight  of  the  green  wafer.  If  she  knew  her  lady,  the 
Chancellor  was  far  from  being  fully  paid  out  yet. 
"And  serve  him  right,"  said  she,  who  would  her- 
self be  long  before  she  forgave  Burg-Wellenshausen 
for  the  horrors  of  its  tedium. 

The  old-fashioned  sheet  that  bore  Sidonia's 
childish  scrawl  she  weighed  awhile  reflectively  in 
her  hand.  Madame  la  Burgravine  would  doubtless 
give  something  to  see  the  contents  of  that  letter.  .  .  . 
Then,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  she  sent  it  on 
its  voyage  with  the  rest.  The  service  of  her  lady 
had  its  advantages;  and  Eliza,  pining  in  the  Burg, 
had  stuck  to  it  with  unerring  prescience  of  better 
days.  But  it  did  not  follow  that  she  held  no  opinions 
of  her  own.  And  she  had  even  a  kind  of  good-nature 
that  did  quite  as  well  as  a  conscience,  as  far  as  her 
neighbours  were  concerned,  and  was  far  more 
agreeable  for  herself. 

"I  am  not  hard-hearted  like  madame,  look  you," 
said  the  maid  to  herself.  "The  child  is  a  nice  child, 
as  young  ladies  go,  and  she  should  have  her  chance." 
***** 

The  spirits  of  spring  and  autumn  are  akin, 
although  the  one  journeys  towards  the  fulness  of 
life,  and  the  other  to  the  cold  sleep,  death.  Across 
the  dividing  months  they  seem  to  meet  each  other, 


At  the  Mock  Versailles  287 

to  serve  you  smiles  and  tears,  skies  of  a  tenderness 
unknown  to  summer,  gales  of  wind,  soft  as  milk, 
mighty  as  love.  These  come  chanting  with  the 
voices  of  the  ocean,  the  mountain  and  the  forest, 
great  songs  of  glory;  seize  you  by  the  way  in  resist- 
less arms,  tell  you  wondrous  things,  and  set  your 
blood  leaping  as  they  pass.  They  set,  if  autumn  it 
be,  the  yellow  leaves  awhirl  in  a  death  dance;  or, 
if  spring,  every  baby  bud  rocking  on  its  sappy  spray. 

The  travellers,  one  riding,  the  other  afoot,  went 
side  by  side  along  the  road  towards  Cassel.  It  was 
a  south-west  wind  that  buffeted  them.  Even  in  the 
heart  of  the  inland  it  seemed  to  sing  of  distant  seas; 
to  bear  on  its  pinions  airs  at  once  untamable  and 
mild,  balmy  and  salt.  The  forest  trees  roared  under 
it  as  with  the  voice  of  waters.  It  gathered  from  them 
drifts  of  yellowing  leaves,  even  as,  leagues  behind, 
it  had  churned  spray  from  Mediterranean  waves.  In 
the  young  traveller's  heart  storm  answered  to  storm ; 
its  breath  in  his  nostrils  maddened  him,  for  he  had 
fever  in  his  veins,  and  he  was  balked  in  love. 

But  to  the  other  traveller,  whose  hair  was  grey, 
who  tramped  along  with  the  even  measure  of  him 
who  has  learned  to  ignore  fatigue,  the  autumn 
lament  was  charged  with  the  hopelessness  of  the 
grave.  It  told  him  how  all  that  is  born  must  die, 


288  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

and  how  the  beautiful  die  first.  In  the  choiring  of 
the  forest  he  heard  the  dirge  of  waning  life.  In 
each  gust  of  pungent  fragrance  he  could  smell  the 
bitter  graves  of  yesteryear. 

The  horseman  was  clothed  in  fine  and  fashionable 
garments.  He  who  trudged  was  but  a  vagrant 
player,  who  made  music  for  his  daily  bread  and 
rarely  knew  in  the  morning  where  he  would  lay  his 
head  at  night. 

They  went  in  silence.  Steven's  heart  was  heavy. 
Robbed  of  his  bride  well-nigh  on  the  altar-steps,  he 
was  now  seeking  her,  in  an  impatience  which  re- 
peated disappointment  had  fed  to  frenzy.  And 
Geiger-Hans  was  his  guide. 

At  a  certain  spot  the  forest  began  to  press  closer 
upon  the  imperial  road.  The  overarching  boughs 
flung  a  swaying,  premature  night  upon  them;  and, 
as  the  woodland  enfolded  them,  it  seemed  to  draw 
them  into  a  great  sanctuary.  Let  the  gale  rage 
without,  here  was  protection  and  an  inner  stillness 
all  the  deeper  in  contrast  to  the  outer  turmoil.  In- 
stinctively the  travellers  drew  closer  to  each  other, 
and  their  tongues  were  loosened. 

The  rider  struck  his  saddle-bow  with  a  passionate 
hand,  at  which  the  plodding  grey  faintly  started. 

"To  think  of  her,  at  Cassel,  under  the  devil  flicker 


At  the  Mock  Versailles  289 

of  that  imperial  puppet's  glance  !  Sidonia,  my  wife, 
at  the  Court  of  Jerome !" 

"A  waterlily  may  defy  the  ooze,"  observed 
Geiger-Hans,  sententiously. 

But  the  simile  was  hateful  to  the  youth  —  a  water- 
lily,  a  flower  that  flourishes,  in  atrocious  beauty, 
upon  the  very  slime !  Then  he  cursed  his  wound 
for  its  slow  healing,  and  his  blood  for  its  ill-timed 
fever,  and  the  length  of  the  road,  and  the  perversity 
of  women. 

"And  the  wrong-headedness  of  young  men!" 
added  the  musician,  drily. 

But  thereafter,  in  tones  of  consolation,  for  dud- 
geon reigned  on  the  saddle  above  him,  he  pointed 
to  a  light  far  off  through  the  dark  flicker  of  leaf  and 
shadowy  march  of  trees. 

"See,  yonder  shall  we  sup  and  sleep,  and 
thence,  rested,  start  in  the  brisk  dawn.  And  to- 
morrow   " 

"To-morrow!"  interrupted  the  bridegroom,  im- 
patiently. "No;  I  shall  be  in  Cassel  to-night." 

"You  forget  the  times  we  live  in,  comrade," 
came  the  fiddler's  answer.  "Why,  here  is  my  no- 
bility afoot;  and  yours,  all  wounded,  upon  a  sorry 
steed,  because  any  less  notable  progression  were  to 
court  suspicion,  putting  aside  the  fact  that  your 


290  "  If  Youth  but  Knczv  !  " 

worship's  carriage  and  horses  (Sidonia  would  have 
none  of  them,  and  if  you  were  not  otherwise  matched 
you  two  would  be  one  by  pride,  comrade)  have  been 
requisitioned  for  the  use  of  the  State.  And  Frantz 
fled  with  his  master's  dressing  set,  his  English 
pistols,  and  his  second  portmanteau !  Court  suits 
I  make  no  doubt,  tut,  tut.  The  fellow  was  a  rogue. 
I  saw  it  at  half  a  blink.  And  worthy  Peter,  our 
postilion,  bitten  with  the  war  fever  and  passed  over 
to  the  Prussians!  Nay,  but  'tis  a  riddance  that 
suits  me.  And  here  we  go  as  I  love,  at  our  own  free 
will,  save,  indeed,  that  we  enter  not  Cassel  to-night. 
Have  you  already  forgotten  that  we  are  at  war,  in 
Westphalia?  Not,  I  grant  you,  that  it  signifies 
much  to  our  pretty  monarch  —  so  long  as  it  does 
not  interfere  with  his  amusements  at  home.  He 
has  thought  it  wise,  nevertheless,  to  make  a  little 
fortress  of  his  capital  —  breastworks  and  glacis 
where  lay  the  orchards  and  cottage  gardens;  pos- 
terns and  corps  de  garde  at  all  road  entrances,  and 
everything  closed  at  the  setting  of  the  watch,  an 
hour  after  sundown!" 

Steven  the  lover  had,  in  his  mind's  eye,  seen  his 
pilgrimage  ended  before  the  fall  of  the  day;  seen 
himself  dashed  or  crowned.  Crowned !  Upon  the 
vision  the  surge  rose  in  his  heart  till  it  overpowered 
him  well-nigh  to  swooning. 


At  the  Mock   Versailles  291 

Geiger-Hans,  with  his  diabolic  insight,  chose 
this  moment  to  draw  from  his  fiddle  a  sudden  strain. 

"Oh,  stop!"  panted  the  young  man.  "I  can- 
not bear  it." 

And  the  player  fell  silent,  musing  upon  the  ways 
of  men  and  women  and  of  love.  Let  a  bride  but 
elude  her  lover's  embrace,  what  surer  road  shall  she 
find  to  a  revealing  of  his  ardour? 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   CABINET  NOIR 

"  Good  even,  sir, 

But  what,  in  faith,  make  you  from  Wittenberg?" 

{Hamlef). 

NIGHT  had  completely  fallen.  A  full  moon  was 
forging  up  the  sky,  like  some  superb  ship  beating 
up  the  wind,  all  sail  spread  and  defying  the  tumul- 
tuous seas  of  cloud,  when  the  comrades  emerged 
from  the  woodland  and  halted  before  the  inn. 

"The  Three  Ways,"  for  a  poor  roadside  house, 
held  unwontedly  merry  company  to-night,  to  judge 
by  the  medley  of  shout  and  song  that  rang  out  from 
its  upper  windows. 

The  fiddler,  mounting  the  steps  that  led  to  the 
door,  gave  a  few  knocks  with  special  emphasis.  To 
this  there  was  no  response.  Laughing  silently,  he 
waited  awhile,  then  suddenly  betook  himself  to  his 
violin,  at  its  highest  pitch.  Too  much  engrossed 
with  their  own  music,  unhearing,  perhaps,  through 
the  rolling  of  the  wind,  the  first-floor  revellers  paid 

292 


The  Cabinet  Noir  293 

no  heed  to  knocks  or  notes;  but  below  there  was 
immediate  stirring.  The  bolts  screeched  under  a 
hasty  hand. 

"Ach!  you,  Geiger-Onkel!"  cried  the  hostess, 
as  she  stood  revealed  on  the  threshold.  "You 
will  have  your  joke !  .  .  .  We  thought  it  was  the 
police  commissary's  rap!  Ah,  heavens,  what  times 
these  are  !  One's  heart  is  in  one's  throat  all  day,  all 
night." 

She  clasped  her  hands  upon  her  flat  bosom,  but 
suddenly  catching  sight  of  the  rider,  forgot  to  pant 
that  she  might  the  better  stare. 

"  'Tis   but   a   new   brother  of  mine,"    said   the 

fiddler,   carelessly.     "Send  the  kerl  for  his  horse. 

-  So  you  have  some  of  the  boys  here  ?    Well,  I 

bring  news  for  them.     Come,  comrade,  you  must  be 

weary." 

In  the  kitchen,  amid  otherwise  pleasing  surround- 
ings, their  nostrils  were  offended  by  an  extraordi- 
nary reek  of  stale  wine,  presently  traceable,  it  seemed, 
to  a  postilion  in  dilapidated  uniform,  who  was  en- 
sconced within  the  glow  of  the  hearth. 

The  man's  high  collar  and  braided  jacket  were 
open  for  the  freer  intercourse  of  throat  and  can ; 
he  winked  impudently  at  Geiger-Hans,  and  had  a 
truculent  roll  of  the  eyes  for  Steven. 


294  "Jf  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Interception  of  the  King's  mail  —  fese  majestf  — 
crime  of  the  first  category  —  punishment  capital," 
observed  he,  with  some  pride,  in  answer  to  the 
young  man's  astonished  look. 

"The  punishment  includes  all  accessory  to  the 
act,"  suggested  Geiger-Hans,  pleasantly. 

"Not  the  victim  of  coercion,"  stated  the  postilion, 
with  indifference. 

He  turned  his  tankard  upside  down  as  a  hint  to 
the  hostess.  She,  poor  thing,  seemed  to  regard 
these  doings  as  a  hare  may  the  trap  that  clutches 
her  pad. 

"The  gentlemen  are  upstairs,"  she  said,  and 
wiped  the  dampness  from  her  lip  with  the  corner  of 
her  apron. 

The  gentlemen  upstairs  continued  to  make  their 
presence  uproariously  patent. 

"The  Brotherhood  are  apparently  having  a  little 
argument,"  quoth  Geiger-Hans,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Onkel,  go  up  and  quiet 
them,  if  you  can !  We  shall  have  the  patrol  upon 
us!"  groaned  the  hostess. 

"Now,  comrade,"  said  the  fiddler  to  Steven, 
one  foot  upon  the  narrow  stairs,  "I  will  now  intro- 
duce you  into  nobler  company  than  ever!  I  have 
made  you  known  to  one  of  the  newest  kings  and  to 


The  Cabinet  Noir  295 

one  of  the  oldest  Burgraves  in  the  land.  To-night 
you  shall  become  acquainted  with  the  offspring  of 
a  nation  in  chains  —  heroes,  my  little  count,  no  less. 
Patriots  of  the  first  water!" 

Count  Kielmansegg  was  conscious  that  the  cor- 
ners of  his  highborn  lips  drooped.  The  patriotism 
of  Westphalia  —  convulsions  of  a  tin  kettle  on  a 
mere  corner  of  the  vast  Napoleonic  fire,  pot-house 
heroes  that  roared  their  enthusiasm  into  the  night 
to  the  clink  of  the  can.  .  .  .  Bah ! 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  the  musician's  eye  that 
mocked  his  words.  He  went  nimbly  up  the  stair, 
and  his  companion  followed  with  the  heavy  foot  of 
fatigue. 

A  drunken  shout  greeted  the  entrance  of  Geiger- 
Hans.  Steven  stood  on  the  threshold,  his  lip  curling 
into  ever  more  open  scorn  at  the  sight  which  greeted 
them :  three  dishevelled  youths,  in  different  humours 
of  intoxication,  extravagantly  costumed  according 
to  the  taste  of  the  militant  Studiosus:  tunics  of 
velvet,  shabby  but  much  befrogged;  jack-boots, 
gigantic  spurs  that  had,  doubtless,  never  pressed 
horse's  sides;  poetically  open  collars;  uncut  hair; 
tobacco-pouch  and  rapier  on  belt;  china  pipes  in 
hand,  six  feet  long,  tasselled  with  Fatherland  colours. 
A  squat  individual,  exuberantly  bearded,  sprawled 


296  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

at  the  head  of  the  table  and  was  expostulating  with 
vehemence.  He  had  embraced  the  can  of  wine  and 
was  defending  it  with1  drawn  spadroon  against 
the  other  two,  who  —  the  one  with  uproarious 
laughter,  the  other  with  tipsy  solemnity  —  were 
making  futile  attempts  to  wrest  it  from  his  posses- 
sion. The  table  was  strewn  with  letters  and  papers. 

No  sooner  did  this  same  hirsute  Bursch  perceive 
Geiger-Hans  than  he  abandoned  both  sword  and 
can  and,  staggering  to  his  feet,  opened  wide  his 
arms. 

"Welcome,  brother  —  master  —  friend  !"  ex- 
claimed he,  dithyrambically. 

"Salve!"  then  cried  the  laughing  student, 
pounced  upon  the  abandoned  can  and  buried  his 
impertinent  sandy  face  in  its  depths.  Whereupon 
the  melancholy  third,  whose  long  black  hair  fell 
about  a  cadaverous  countenance,  sank  into  his 
chair. 

"Vilis  est  hominis  natura"  lamented  he;  then 
suddenly  broke  into  the  vernacular  and  shook  his 
fist  at  the  drinker:  "Thou  rag!" 

"  Salve,  jratres!"  responded  the  fiddler,  by  no 
means  surprised,  it  seemed,  at  his  reception,  but 
neatly  avoiding  the  threatened  embrace.  "How 
beautiful  it  is,"  he  went  on,  "thus  to  see  the  saviours 


The  Cabinet  Noir  297 

of  their  country  at  work  upon  her  interests,  even 
when  the  rest  of  the  world  sleeps!"  He  pointed 
to  the  letters  as  he  spoke. 

An  inflamed  but  exceedingly  alert  eye  was  here 
fixed  upon  Steven  over  the  rim  of  the  can. 

"Prudential"  cried  the  drinker,  flung  down  the 
vessel  and  ran  forward,  "a  stranger  among  us!" 

With  a  bellow  the  bearded  one  lurched  for  his 
weapon. 

"A  stranger?  .  .  .    Fix  intr antitrust" 

The  weeper  profited  of  the  excitement  to  seize, 
in  his  turn,  upon  the  abandoned  vessel. 

"Nay,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  arresting  the  double 
onslaught  with  outstretched  arms.  "Pax  intran- 
tibus  be  it:  we  are  friends!" 

Steven  stood  in  the  doorway,  sneering.  He 
would  have  found  a  pungent  satisfaction  in  laying 
flat  the  drunken  couple  —  and  no  doubt,  with  the 
science  cultivated  in  Jackson's  London  rooms, 
would,  despite  his  wound,  easily  have  put  the 
thought  into  execution.  He  made  a  movement  for- 
ward. But  the  fiddler  held  him  at  arm's  length. 

"Peace,  brother  Peter  —  peace,  most  learned 
doctor  in  herbd.  I  bring  a  friend,  I  say,  a  new 
brother,  my  comrade,  a  noble  Austrian  who,  by 
the  way,  is  half  an  Englishman,  and  as  bitter  a 


298  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

foe  to  the  tyrant  as  your  most  Germanic  selves.  I 
introduce :  —  Count  Waldorff-Kielmansegg  —  Herr 
Paul  Oster,  'Mossy-Head,'  emeritus  swordsman, 
Senior  of  the  Great  Westphalic  conspiracy.  Be- 
hold, count,  the  true  German  garb,  the  type  of 
manly  beauty  !  Behold  this  Barbarossa  head  !  Be- 
hold the  sword,  in  short  (if  I  may  so  express  my- 
self), of  a  great  patriotic  movement.  And  here," 
turning  with  a  fresh  gesture  of  ceremony,  "we  have 
the  brain,  the  tongue,  the  acute  eye :  in  other  words, 
Herr  Theophilus  Schmeling,  legal  doctor,  jurist, 
fresh  from  all  his  honours  at  Goettingen  —  and  the 
third  .  .  .  ?"  He  looked  interrogation  at  the  black- 
haired  student. 

The  jurist,  surprisingly  alive  to  the  situation, 
answered  briskly  for  his  melancholy  comrade,  who 
was  still  absorbed  and  absorbing : 

"Johannis  Stempel,  SanctcB  Theologies  Studiosus. 
An  'Ancient  House,'  also  a  faithful  heart  —  a  good 
labourer  in  the  vineyard  —  but,"  he  added  chuc- 
kling, "apt  to  be  weinerisch  im  Wein,  whiny  over  the 
wine." 

He  perpetrated  his  atrocious  quip  with  a  wink 
of  little  red  eyes. 

Count  Waldorff-Kielmansegg  found  some  pleas- 
ure in  bowing  three  times  with  ironical  ceremony. 


The  Cabinet  Noir  299 

But  Geiger-Hans  took  up  the  tale  again  with  a  dry 
disregard  of  any  possibility  of  humour. 

"Here  we  are,  I  repeat,  in  the  heart  of  a  great 
conspiracy  .  .  .  and  not  one  of  us  but  risks  his 
neck  by  so  much  as  merely  looking  on !  The 
Sword,  the  Law,  the  Church.  'Tis  a  conspiracy 
well  headed !" 

As  he  waved  his  hand,  Steven's  eyes  were  di- 
rected towards  the  table,  and  he  suddenly  realized 
that  the  papers  lying  in  such  disorder  were  the 
contents  of  the  mail-bag  that  hung  on  the  arm  of 
the  theologian's  chair.  His  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  dilapidated  courier  downstairs:  "Crime  of  the 
first  category,"  had  said  that  official. 

"Bah!"  cried  the  Jurist,  "Jerome  does  not  kill; 
he  but  fleeces  his  little  flock,  as  all  the  world  knows." 

"Your  pardon,  doctor,"  retorted  the  fiddler,  with 
a  fine  inciseness  in  his  tone.  "The  most  paternal 
government  makes  an  example  now  and  again.  And 
the  head  of  one  Carl  Schill  is  this  moment  affixed, 
minus  its  body,  on  the  toll-gate  of  Helmstadt.  But 
reassure  yourselves,  the  odious  French  invention  of 
Dr.  Guillotin  has  not  yet  superseded  your  old 
Germanic  square-sword;  your  heads  would  be 
hacked  off  in  the  true  heroic  style.  'Tis  a  conso- 
lation." 


300  "Jf  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"Augh!"  groaned  Barbarossa,  and  sank  into  his 
seat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  clasping  his  middle 
as  if  a  sober  sickness  had  fallen  upon  him.  His 
very  beard  seemed  to  turn  pale.  But  presently  it 
flamed  again  with  a  revulsion  of  anger: 

"What  the  hangman!  How  is  one  to  manage 
these  fools?  They  sit,  and  soak,  and  sop,  and 
suck,  and  enough  to  snick  twenty  necks  on  the 
table  before  them.  I  told  them  so,  just  now,  when 
I  wished  to  put  the  wine  away." 

"The  can  is  empty,"  here  intoned^the  theologic 
Studio sus,  after  the  manner  of  one  giving  out  a 
psalm.  "Nunc  est  bibendum  —  Aut  bibe  aut  abi!" 

From  behind  his  beard  the  Senior  growled  like  a 
dog.  But  the  Jurist  intervened. 

"Content  ye,"  he  said  softly.  "I'll  to  the  letters; 
and  here's  a  cool  head  will  help  me.  Will  you  not, 
Geiger-Hans  —  good  Geiger-Hans  ?  And  we  shall 
but  crack  a  bottle  between  us,  just  to  clear  our 
brains.  Shall  we  not,  musician  of  my  heart?" 

"Yes;  aut  bibe  aut  abi  —  sau}  oder  lauf  —  drink 
or  slink,"  chanted  the  divine,  afresh. 

" Doctorlein"  said  the  musician,  suavely,  "I  am 
with  you.  And  the  devil's  own  head  you  must 
have,"  he  pursued,  looking  at  the  Jurist  with  a 
kind  of  admiration ;  "for  I'll  be  sworn  you've  drunk 


The  Cabinet  Noir  3O1 

as  much  as  the  other  two  put  together  —  but  I  pray 
you,  a  word  first:  wherefore  the  King's  mail?" 

"Your  question  is  reasonable,"  responded  the 
other  with  renewed  verbosity.  "Providus,  homo 
sagax.  ...  The  defendant's  request  is  allowable, 
worthy  Senior.  .  .  .  Are  you  defendant,  by  the 
way,  or  pursuer?" 

"Accomplice,"  said  the  fiddler,  sitting  down  and 
gathering  a  sheaf  of  letters  into  his  hand.  "To  the 
point  again,  brother:  why  the  King's  mail?" 

"Two  warrants,  we  are  informed,  are  out  against 
the  Brotherhood.  And  here"  -  the  student  slapped 
his  greasy  tunic  —  "you  behold  equity  contravening 
judgments:  legal  sagacity  tripping  up  edicts;  the 
true  principle  —  for  if  your  lawyer  is  not  the  anti- 
dote to  the  law,  what  is  he  ?  Answer  me  that ! 
Ah,  here  comes  the  wine!  No  more  cans,  but 
bottles!  Our  landlady  knows  how  to  treat  gentle- 
men. Nay,  nay,  Pastorlein,  get  you  to  sleep  again, 
and  dream  of  your  first  sermon.  There  is  work  to 
be  accomplished  here.  Mrs.  Hostess,  give  him 
small-beer  in  the  can  —  he  will  never  know  the 
difference !" 

Geiger-Hans,  who  had  rapidly  sorted  the  letters 
in  his  hand,  raised  his  eyes  and  cast  a  look  about 
him.  The  Senior,  sunk  in  a  heap  upon  his  chair, 


302  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

was  staring  straight  before  him  with  a  glowering 
eye,  unmistakably  in  the  first  stage  of  drunken 
stupefaction.  The  aspirant  divine  was  whimper- 
ing over  the  strangely  inferior  taste  of  his  tipple. 
Steven,  leaning  against  the  whitewashed  walls  with 
folded  arms,  stood  looking  upon  the  scene,  weary, 
arrogant,  detached. 

"Hey,  Sir  Count,"  said  the  fiddler  then  to  him 
with  one  of  his  rare  sweet  smiles,  "what  say  you 
—  a  glass  of  wine  ?  No  ?  Why,  then,  what  will 
your  lordship  do  while  we  manipulate  affairs  of 
State  ...  in  this  Cabinet  Noir?" 

For  the  life  of  him,  Steven  could  not  display 
haughtiness  to  Geiger-Hans,  however  dubious  might 
seem  his  proceedings.  Too  much  he  knew  of  him 
by  this  time,  yet  too  little. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  giving  him  back  a  faint  smile. 
"I  see  a  couch  yonder.  I  will  try  a  sleep,  till  the 
State  of  Westphalia  is  secured,  or  undone,  for  I  am 
woefully  tired." 

"The  couch?  Right,"  said  the  fiddler,  nodding. 
"Yes,  go  to  sleep,  comrade,  and  dream. — Here 
with  that  heap,  brother  conspirer.  And  now, 
listen:  the  wise  commit  no  unnecessary  crimes. 
We  have  no  business  with  the  private  correspondence 
of  the  good  folks  of  Cassel.  But  here  is  a  document 


The  Cabinet  Noir  303 

with  an  official  seal,  addressed  to  the  Commissary 
of  Police,  Goettingen." 

He  tossed  the  letter  across  the  table.  There  was 
a  shout  of  triumph  from  the  Jurist. 

The  horsehair  couch  was  hard  enough,  but  Steven 
had  flung  himself  on  it  with  a  whole-souled  desire 
to  shut  out  a  sordid,  unsatisfactory  world.  Sleep, 
however,  the  jade,  is  not  to  be  had  for  the  wooing. 
The  whines  of  the  Theologian,  the  stertorous  breath- 
ing of  Barbarossa,  the  Jurist's  flow  of  rhetoric,  the 
crackling  of  the  papers,  the  fiddler's  very  mutism, 
were  all  so  many  goads  to  drive  him  into  ever  more 
feverish  wakefulness.  Against  the  rigid  bolster  his 
heart-beats  resounded  in  his  brain.  "Sidonia,  Si- 
donia!"  they  said,  in  maddening  persistence.  And 
then,  as  in  a  sort  of  vision,  he  would  see  the  paltry 
Don  Juan,  King  Jerome,  with  his  flickering  eyes, 
and  start,  with  a  spasm  of  anger,  back  to  a  glaring 
consciousness  of  the  mean  room,  the  guttering 
lights,  the  reek  of  wine  and  smoke,  the  insufferable 
company. 

"Herr  Jurist,  halt,  halt!"  came  the  fiddler's 
voice  suddenly.  "Leave  that  alone,  if  you  please. 
That  is,  beyond  any  doubt,  private." 

"'Tis    addressed    to    the    Arch-Enemy,    and    no 


304  "  If  youth  but  Knew  !  " 

correspondence  with  tyrants  is  private,"  retorted 
the  lawyer.  "Besides"  —with  a  grin  —  "it's  one 
of  those  new-fashioned  French  envelopes,  and  every- 
thing French  is  damned  and  doomed !  See,  the 
wafer  has  come  unsealed  in  my  very  hand.  The 
wise  man  —  hie  —  neglects  no  hint  of  Providence. 
Hey  da!  what  have  we  here?  .  .  .  O  thou  little 
son  of  Venus,  what  a  sweet  slip  of  rosy  paper! 
What  a  darling  little  claw  of  a  hand !  .  .  .  (The 
King  has  a  fine  taste  in  doves,  I'll  grant  him  that !) 
Bah,  Sardanapalus !  It  is  enough  to  turn  any  man 
republican.  I  am  for  the  rights  of  man.  Tyrants 
shall  have  no  monopoly  of  dovecotes.  Hum  !  neither 
date  nor  place:  a  cautious  dove!  Chirp,  chirp!" 
The  creature  pressed  the  sheet  to  his  tipsy  lips  with 
disgusting  lushness.  "Would  I  held  the  pretty 
flutterer  here!  Hark!  what  does  she  say?  'Sir' 
(A  cold  beginning:  her  feathers  seem  ruffled),  '/ 
ought  to  be  very  angry  with  you;  but,  alas  I  anger 
is  not  to  be  commanded  any  more  than  love.  How 
well  it  would  be  jor  us  women  were  it  otherwise!' 
(Pretty  dear!  Ambiguous  as  any  lawyer's  state- 
ent !)  '  Yet  I  feel  that  you  must  be  forgiven,  if 
but  for  the  sake  of  duty  —  for  I  should  be  indeed 
disloyal  to  persist  in  rebellion  against  one  who  is  my 
lawful  lord. — Betty!  P.S.'  (Aha!  now  we  shall 


The  Cabinet  Noir  305 

come  to  the  true  meaning,  to  the  kernel,  medulla, 
medululla  esculenta,  of  the  rosy  note.)  '  Under- 
stand: I  promise  nothing.  But  understand  also: 
you  may  come  and  receive  your  pardon  —  if  no 
morel'  " 

The  reader's  mouth  was  opened  upon  fresh 
dithyrambics  when  the  fiddler's  voice  rose  per- 
emptorily: "Pass  me  that  letter!" 

There  fell  a  silence  between  the  two.  Geiger- 
Hans,  his  lean  jaws  propped  upon  his  hands,  sat 
staring  at  the  pink  sheet.  The  lawyer  fell  upon  a 
new  pile  of  letters  with  monkey-like  mischief  and 
activity.  The  supposed  director  of  the  Cabinet 
Noir  was  now  snoring  lustily.  Its  religious  guide 
and  philosopher  was  still  pondering  over  the  per- 
versity of  his  liquor. 

"Ha!"  cried  the  Jurist,  with  a  sudden  shout, 
"another  missive  from  the  pink  dove  —  same  hand, 
same  paper  and  cover,  and  addressed  to  no  less  a 
person  than  the  great  Chancellor  Wellenshausen ! 
Also  at  Heiligenstadt.  Never  draw  such  angry 
brows  upon  me,  Minnesinger  mine.  I  tell  you,  this 
woman  positively  cannot  seal  a  letter!" 

Steven  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow.  He  heard 
the  rustle  of  the  opening  sheet  in  the  student's 
hands;  then  came  another  crow: 


306  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

"  Excellent,  upon  my  cerevies,  excellent !  Listen, 
man.  Whatever  your  faults  are,  you  can  laugh: 

"'Palais  de  Bellevue, 

"'Cassel. 
"'NEVER! 

"'Betty,    Burgravine   of   Wellenshausen.' 

"Thunder!  'Tis  his  wife!  It  is  a  whole  story 
a  la  Kotzebue.  Do  you  hear,  Geiger-Hans?  'Tis 
his  wife.  'Never!'  she  writes  to  him.  Oh,  the 
dove  has  claws  and  beak,  and  she  can  peck  !" 

Without  betraying  any  of  the  exuberant  mirth 
expected  of  him,  Geiger-Hans  leaned  over  and,  with 
neat  decision,  plucked  the  letter  from  the  other's 
hands.  And  as  the  Jurist  stared,  wavering  con- 
fusedly upon  offence:  "Go  on  with  your  work, 
friend,"  said  the  musician,  smiling.  "That  second 
warrant  has  not  yet  been  discovered.  The  night  is 
waning.  It  may  be  well  to  be  fairly  on  your  road 
to  Goettingen  before  the  hue  and  cry." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   KING'S  MAIL 

"  <§i !    flennt  i^r  nod)  ba«  atte  2ieb 
3>a«  einst  So  roilb  bie  S3ru«t  burdjgluljt, 
3ljr  ©aiten,  bumpf  unb  triibe  ? 
2>ie  Gngel,  bie  nennen  e«  £immel8frenb  ; 
2He  £eufel,  bie  nennen  e«  ^oUenleib ; 
2>ie  2Jien«c^en,  bie  nennen  e8— Siebe!" 
HEINE. 

STEVEN,  whose  mind  had  become  keenly  on  the 
alert  at  the  first  mention  of  Betty's  name,  turned 
on  his  hard  couch  with  a  general  relaxation  of  mind 
and  body.  The  consoling  news  that  it  was  Betty 
who  occupied  Jerome's  attention  fell  on  his  jealous 
anguish  like  balm.  His  thoughts  began  to  wander, 
rocked  on  the  tide  of  the  ebbing  tempest.  He 
must  then  have  fallen  into  slumber,  for  he  was 
suddenly  back  in  the  old  Burg  of  Wellenshausen, 
with  Sidonia,  his  little  bride.  She  was  sitting  in 
the  high-backed  chair,  in  all  her  wedding  finery, 
even  as  he  had  last  seen  her.  But  she  was  smiling 
upon  him.  ...  "7  have  your  letter.  It  was  all  a 
mistake,  a  great  mistake"  she  was  saying  to  him. 

307 


308  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Then,  as  he  sprang  forward  to  take  her  in  his  arms, 
suddenly,  with  the  fantastic  horror  of  dreams,  her 
face  changed,  became  red,  distorted,  even  as  the  face 
of  the  student.  Her  voice  changed,  too;  grew 
raucous,  broken  with  insupportable  laughter.  "  You 
never  loved  me,"  it  said;  "that  is  now  clear  to  me. 
You  meant  well  with  me,  I  know;  but  it  is  not  right 
—  such  a  union  as  ours  cannot  be  right,  either  before 
God  or  man.  Had  I  understood  before,  I  should 
have  died  rather  than  consent.  But  it  is  not  yet  too 
late.  Aunt  Betty  says  our  marriage  is  no  marriage, 
and  she  knows  all  about  your  Austrian  law.  Uncle 
Ludo  has  taken  advice  of  lawyers  for  me;  and  very 
soon  we  may  both  be  free.  No  —  /  will  not  see  you. 
I  will  never  see  you  again." 

Steven  sat  up  straight,  and  even  at  that  moment 
there  was  an  uproar.  Geiger-Hans,  creeping  round 
the  table  like  a  cat,  had  fallen  silently  upon  the 
student  and  was  paralyzing,  with  a  grasp  of  steel, 
the  hand  that  held  the  letter. 

The  Jurist  bellowed  as  if  the  executioner  were 
already  upon  him,  and  Mossy-Head,  waking  up, 
shouted:  "Treachery!"  while,  as  if  the  clamour 
had  given  the  finishing  touch  to  his  instability,  the 
Theologian  and  the  once  more  empty  can  fell  in  a 
heap  on  the  floor.  The  Senior  flung  his  drunken 


The  King's  Mail  309 

bulk  blindly  against  the  fiddler.  Steven  leaped 
from  the  couch. 

Even  with  one  hand  (his  left  arm  was  still  weak), 
anything  so  intoxicated  was  easily  disposed  of.  He 
picked  the  "Sword  of  the  conspiracy"  off  Geiger- 
Hans,  who  thereupon,  finding  himself  free  to  deal 
with  "the  Brain,"  possessed  himself  at  once  of  the 
letter.  The  musician's  thin  cheeks  were  faintly 
touched  with  scarlet,  and  his  nostrils  worked  with 
quick  breathing;  otherwise  he  seemed  unmoved. 
Steven,  therefore,  was  all  the  more  astonished  to 
hear  him  exclaim  with  utmost  disgust,  utmost  scorn 
and  anger: 

"Palsambleu!  but  I  am  weary  of  this !  Drunken 
swine !  Out  with  them  to  some  sty !  Roll  your 
fellow  forth,  count,  and  down  the  stairs.  If  your 
shoulder  smarts,  you  have  sound  legs  at  least  .  .  . 
and  riding-boots!" 

The  wine,  which  had  seemed  so  long  merely  to 
stimulate  him,  here  suddenly  took  melting  effect 
upon  the  student  of  law.  He  twisted  in  the  fiddler's 
grasp,  flung  both  his  arms  round  his  neck,  and,  em- 
bracing him  with  the  ejaculation:  "O  thou  dear, 
ancient  one!"  showed  an  instant  inclination  to 
slumber  on -his  shoulder. 

"Pah!"   exclaimed  Geiger-Hans,  and  disengaged 


310  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

himself  with  what  seemed  to  Steven  surprising  vin- 
dictiveness.  He  then  trundled  his  man  into  the 
passage.  The  door  of  an  empty  bedroom,  flooded 
with  moonlight,  stood  suggestively  open;  here  he 
cast  the  creature  from  him;  threw  sword,  scabbard 
and  pipe  on  top  of  the  grunting  body. 

Steven,  in  .perfect  gravity,  followed  his  friend's 
example;  but,  with  more  mercy,  deposited  his 
burden  on  the  billows  of  the  feather  bed. 

"There  is  yet  another,"  quoth  the  fiddler,  dusting 
his  hands.  Disgust  was  upon  him.  He  was  Geiger- 
Hans  no  longer,  but  a  grand  seigneur  with  a  ven- 
geance, offended  in  all  his  Versailles  refinement. 
He  led  Steven  back  into  the  room.  "We  shall  have 
to  carry  the  hog.  Take  you  his  feet,  while  I  his 
greasy  poll." 

The  Theologian  had  not  even  a  grunt.  They 
spread  him  beside  the  Jurist  in  the  moonlight  — 
with  a  certain  effect  of  symmetry,  like  fish  on  a 
slab. 

Geiger-Hans  locked  the  door  on  the  outside  and 
pocketed  the  key.  A  second,  then  he  and  Steven 
stood  together  in  the  darkness  of  the  landing.  Ex- 
cept for  the  snores  from  within  the  room  and  for 
similar  sounds  rising  from  the  kitchen  below,  the 
inn  of  The  Three  Ways  was  wrapped  in  stillness. 


They  spread  him  beside  the  Jurist  in  the  moonlight — u<it/i  </  certain 
effect  of  symmetry. 


The  King's  Mail  311 

Outside,  the  gale,  which  had  long  been  waning,  had 
now  fallen. 

''That  is  the  courier,  I  take  it,"  said  the  wanderer. 
"  Did  I  not  say,  my  noble  friend,  that  I  would  bring 
you  into  the  company  of  heroes  ?  Listen  to  them ! 
Thus  do  we  conspire  in  Westphalia!" 

When  they  re-entered  the  room,  the  musician 
went  instantly  to  the  window  and,  opening  it  wide, 
stood  inhaling  in  deep  draughts  the  clean  airs  of 
the  woods.  It  was  that  most  silent,  most  mys- 
terious hour  of  the  whole  circle  —  the  hour  before 
dawn.  More  silent  and  more  mysterious,  this 
night,  it  seemed  because  of  the  storm  that  had 
passed.  Nature  was  exhausted  after  her  passion, 
merely  shaken  by  a  faint  reminiscent  sigh  that  came 
stealing  with  scarce  the  quiver  of  a  leaf,  as  from  a 
tired  heart. 

The  night  sky  held  a  strange  depth  of  blue  against 
the  garish  yellow  lamplight  within;  the  stars  were 
paling.  With  head,  thrown  back,  the  wanderer 
stood  gazing  upwards.  There  were  moods  of  his 
strange  comrade  that  Steven  had  learned  to  respect. 
He  therefore  neither  spoke  nor  approached;  but, 
after  completing  the  purification  of  the  room  by 
the  simple  process  of  turning  out  all  the  cans  and 
bottles,  he  sat  down  and  waited,  absorbed  in  his 


312  "Jf  Youth  but  Knew!" 

own  painful  reflections.  At  last  Geiger-Hans  drew 
a  deep  breath,  and,  leaving  the  window  open,  sat 
down  facing  his  companion.  The  contents  of  the 
rifled  mail- bag  lay  between  them. 

The  musician's  face  looked  pale  and  severe.  Still 
in  silence,  he  began  to  toss  such  packets  as  had 
escaped  violation  back  into  the  bag. 

"Will  you  give  me  my  letter,  please?"  said 
Steven,  dully.  Then  his  youth  and  hot  blood  be- 
trayed him  into  a  cry:  "Oh,  I  am  miserable !" 

The  older  man  glanced  at  him  from  under  his 
eyebrows.  It  was  an  odd  thing  —  for  what  was  he, 
after  all,  but  a  poor,  half-crazed,  broken  gentleman  ? 
yet  there  was  a  certain  smile  of  this  Geiger-Hans 
which  made  the  world  seem  warm  to  the  rich  and 
highborn  Steven. 

"O  blessed  unhappiness  of  youth!"  cried  the 
musician  in  his  old  manner,  mocking  yet  passionate. 
"  Did  you  but  know  it,  these  pangs,  these  sighs,  will 
be  sweeter  to  the  memory  of  your  old  age  than  your 
youth's  most  satisfied  ecstasies  !  Here  is  your  letter, 
boy.  Go,  weep  and  rage  upon  it,  if  you  will,  with 
all  the  fury  of  your  checked  aspiration.  .  .  .  What, 
you  open  your  arms,  and  she  is  not  ready  forthwith 
to  fall  into  them?  You  condescend  to  run  after 
her,  and  she  does  not  instantly  stand  still  to  be 


The  King's  Mail  313 

caught !  You  thought  that  to-morrow's  sun  would 
see  you  with  your  bride  in  your  embrace,  and  be- 
hold !  you  have  yet  to  woo  her  ?  Bewail  your  hard 
fate,  you  are  indeed  to  be  pitied !" 

"Would  you  not  like  your  fiddle?"  cried  Steven, 
as  he  caught  the  half-folded  sheet  that  the  musician 
tossed  towards  him,  "that  you  may  set  my  folly  to 
a  tune  ?  When  you  want  to  sermonize,  I  had  rather 
you  did  it  on  the  strings,  if  you  don't  mind." 

For  a  second  Geiger  Hans  seemed  about  to  re- 
sent the  pettish  speech  as  an  impertinence.  A 
frown  gathered ;  but,  with  a  short  laugh,  broken  by 
a  deep  sigh,  he  resumed  his  air  of  sad  serenity. 

"Nay,"  said  he,  stroking  the  strings  of  the  instru- 
ment that  Steven  pushed  towards  him,  and  then 
laying  his  hand  flat  upon  them  to  still  their  wailing, 
"did  I  make  music  to-night,  it  would  not  be  music 
for  your  youth.  Fool!"  said  Geiger-Hans,  fixing 
his  mad,  brilliant  eyes  upon  Steven,  "is  she  not 
living,  she  whom  you  love  ?  and  you  prate  to  me  — 
to  me,  of  unhappiness!" 

Though  the  words  were  harsh,  his  tone  was 
strangely  gentle.  Had  Steven  dared,  he  would 
have  put  out  his  hand  to  touch  the  speaker. 

The  wind  was  rustling  through  the  trees;  there 
came  a  stir  and  a  murmur  from  the  woods;  the 


314  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

purple-blue  depth  of  the  sky  seemed  to  quiver  with 
pallid  changes. 

"It  is  the  dawn,"  said  the  fiddler,  in  a  worn  voice. 
"Get  you  to  that  couch  again,  for  you  must  sleep, 
and  we  have  a  day  of  action  before  us.  Aye,  take 
that  letter  with  you  and  lay  it  under  your  cheek. 
If  it  seem  cruel,  have  not  her  fingers  touched  it? 
Ah,  if  you  but  knew  from  what  a  wounded  heart, 
perhaps,  sprang  those  reproachful  words !  Why,  if 
she  has  pride,  man,  will  she  not  be  the  fitter  mate 
for  you  ?  And  if  she  will  have  naught  of  a  loveless 
marriage,  is  it  not  because  she  would  have  love? 
Poor  little  Sidonia  .  .  .  who  only  yesterday  was  a 
child  !  You  have  awakened  a  woman's  heart  in  her ; 
see  that  you  know  how  to  meet  that  heart's  measure." 

Steven  stood  by  the  couch,  palpitating  to  the 
words,  to  the  golden  visions  they  opened  before 
his  fevered  eyes.  .  .  .  Sidonia,  the  child,  with  her 
yellow  plaits  of  hair,  with  her  eyes  brown  and  green, 
clear  yet  deep,  like  the  brook  under  the  trees.  .  .  . 
Sidonia,  whose  lips  he  had  kissed;  who  had  smiled 
at  him  under  her  bridal  veil ! 

Geiger-Hans  had  said  he  would  make  no  music; 
but  it  was  the  music  of  the  gods  his  words  had 
evoked  in  the  dawn.  Presently  the  older  man 
looked  up  from  his  dreary  abstraction:  Steven, 


The  King's  Mail  315 

stretched  on  the  sofa  in  all  the  abandonment  of 
young  fatigue,  was  sleeping  like  a  child.  The 
watcher's  features  relaxed. 

"O  bella  Gioventu  .  .  .  !"  he  murmured.  Then 
he  looked  down  at  the  scattered  sheets  before  him, 
and  his  lips  twisted  in  bitter  mockery.  Here  had 
been  a  night's  work  of  petty  crime  under  the  fine- 
sounding  title  of  patriotism  and  national  conspiracy. 
But  might  not  now  some  good  be  brought  out  of 
it  after  all  ?  How  sound  the  fellow  slept !  Not 
that  he,  the  wanderer,  envied  any  sleeper  but  him 
that  would  never  wake.  —  Well,  to  work ! 

He  took  up,  with  contemptuous  fingers,  Bur- 
gravine  Betty's  easy  lines  of  surrender  to  the  royal 
Don  Juan.  It  was  clear  that  she  was  vastly  flattered 
at  the  thought  of  becoming  one  of  the  mil  e  tre. 
But  Betty  had  a  husband  .  .  .  !  Yes,  the  butterfly 
should  be  saved,  if  it  were  only  for  the  sake  of  the 
pure  child  who  had,  as  yet,  no  better  shelter  than 
those  fragile  gaudy  wings. 

He  re-read  the  lines  destined  to  the  King,  and 
smiled.  Then  he  turned  over  the  other  sheet  with 
his  forefinger.  The  pregnant  "Never!"  sprang 
again  at  him  out  of  the  page,  in  Betty's  flourish. 

The  fiddler  smiled  again. 

***** 


316  "If  Youth  but  Knew !  " 

Through  the  open  window  a  shaft  of  sunlight 
struck  the  sleeper's  forehead.  Geiger-Hans  rose  to 
draw  the  wooden  shutter.  But  Steven  frowned  and 
awoke. 

Without,  the  forest  was  one  golden  lyric.  It  was 
an  autumn  day  of  sparkle  and  scurry.  A  flock  of 
migrating  birds  were  calling  to  each  other  over  the 
yellowing  tree-tops.  Against  the  pale,  exquisite  blue 
of  a  sky  such  as  September,  alone  seems  to  give,  the 
rooks  were  circling  in  fantastic  squadrons. 

From  the  dappled  glades  came  an  unseen  stir  of 
soft  furred  things;  things  on  vibrating  wings,  busy 
or  merely  merry,  snatching  the  last  bright  hour 
before  the  end.  Into  the  middle  of  a  straight 
forest  clearing,  all  faint  amber  with  fallen  pine 
needles,  a  stag  pricked  his  way  with  high  and  dainty 
steps;  then  turned  his  noble  head,  caught  some 
scent  of  danger  and  leaped  into  the  bracken,  which 
closed  in  waves  over  him.  .  .  .  The  very  spirit  of 
the  woods  incarnate ! 

It  seemed  shame  to  be  sullenly  sleepy  on  such  a 
morning.  Steven  breathed  the  bright  air,  and  his 
ill-humour  vanished. 

"That  is  well,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  as  if  the  young 
man  had  spoken.  "Nature  sets  us  the  example: 
what  work  she  has  to  do,  she  does  happily.  Be 


The  King's  Mail  317 

brisk,  comrade;  we  have  also  a  task  before  us,  and 
an  immediate.  The  mail-bag  is  ready.  We  must 
now  start  master  courier  again  on  his  interrupted 
duty.  Heaven  knows  in  what  state  we  shall  find 
the  clown;  we  shall  doubtless  have  to  pump  on 
him!  ...  Then,  to  Cassel!" 

Melodious  snores  were  yet  intercrossing  each 
other  in  the  locked  bedroom  as  they  passed  down 
the  stairs.  But  the  postilion  was  awake.  He  lay 
full  length  on  the  bench,  with  face  upturned  to  the 
rafters,  staring  stupidly  at  a  bunch  of  herbs  im- 
mediately above  him,  his  eyes  totally  devoid  of 
speculation. 

Early  as  it  was,  the  household  of  that  solitary 
house  was  astir.  A  fire  was  crackling  in  the  hearth, 
and  a  fresh  sound  of  water  came  from  an  inner 
room.  The  host  of  The  Three  Ways  stood  in  the 
wide-open  house-door  looking  into  the  empty  road. 
He  turned  quickly  at  the  sound  of  their  steps  and 
grinned  in  greeting  as  he  saw  Geiger-Hans. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Host,"  said  the  musician. 
"Fine  doings  have  you  had  here  the  night!" 

"Students'  tricks,  students'  tricks,"  said  the  host, 
suddenly  uncomfortable,  and  slouching  back  into 
the  kitchen  as  he  spoke.  His  small  eyes  blinked 
furtively  away  from  the  sight  of  the  mail- bags  which 


3i8  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Geiger-Hans  now  heaved  on  the  table.  "Bah!" 
pursued  he,  "I  knew  nothing!  I  busy  not  my 
head  over  gentry's  doings  or  students'  pranks.  I 
go  to  sleep.  They  concern  me  not."  Then  he 
burst  into  a  chuckle.  "Popped  him  into  a  wine- 
cask,  they  did,  in  the  backyard  of  The  Bunch  of 
Grapes,  down  at  Cassel,  where  the  fellow  takes  his 
nip  before  going  his  round.  And  they  sat  on  the 
cask,  the  three  of  them,  singing  and  smoking  their 
pipes  —  drove  past  the  French  soldiers  who  looked 
on  and  laughed  —  out  of  the  town  gates,  and  not  a 
finger  lifted  to  stop  them !  Upon  my  soul,  it  was  a 
fine  joke !  The  cart  is  out  yonder,  and  the  cask, 
too!"  he  added,  and  chucked  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  sunlit  yard,  shaking 
the  while  with  a  laugh  that  might  have  struck  the 
observer  as  a  trifle  forced. 

"Your  jokers  are  still  enjoying  the  sleep  of  a 
blameless  conscience,"  said  Geiger-Hans.  "They 
lie  in  your  best  bedroom,  Mr.  Landlord.  I  locked 
them  in,  lest  your  good  wine  should  lead  their 
innocence  and  lightheartedness  into  new  jokes  .  .  . 
that  might  be  less  excellent."  He  took  the  key 
from  his  pocket  and  tossed  it  on  the  table.  "Re- 
lease the  birds  when  you  think  fit,"  he  added. 

The    landlord    took   up    the    key    with    alacrity. 


The  King's  Mail  319 

Geiger-Hans  remained  awhile  musingly  fixing  the 
outstretched  form  of  the  postilion;  then  a  faint 
laugh  shook  him  in  his  turn. 

"In  a  wine  cask,"  commented  he.  "A  right  old 
German  jest,  not  without  its  gross  humour  .  .  .  ! 
He  did  aver  they  had  kidnapped  him :  the  creature 
spoke  truth !" 

Mine  host  almost  perpetrated  a  wink,  but  checked 
himself  and  coughed. 

"Oh,  these  students  !"  he  reiterated  vaguely. 

"No  wonder  the  beast  smells  like  a  bottle- brush," 
cried  Steven,  curling  up  his  nose.  Here,  then,  was 
the  explanation  of  that  stench  of  wine  which  had 
sickened  him  the  night  before,  and  which  even  now 
the  sweeping  breeze  could  scarcely  conquer. 

"The  High-Born  has  perfect  reason,"  cried  the 
innkeeper,  "for  the  rascal  is  sopped,  within  and 
without.  If  you  squeezed  him,  he  would  run 
vinegar.  — Well,  so  long  as  I  am  paid!  ..."  was 
the  philosophic  parenthesis.  "But  the  wife  has 
shaken  him  in  vain.  There  he  lies,  and  it  were 
perhaps  as  wholesome  he  should  jog."  His  glance 
moved  uneasily  towards  the  mail- bag.  "And  what 
is  to  be  done  with  that?"  it  seemed  to  ask. 

"Quite  so,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  gravely.  "Has 
he  not  his  letters  to  deliver?  They  will  be  one 


320  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

post  late ;  but  in  Westphalia,  nowadays,  we  are  not 
so  mighty  particular,  are  we  ?  He  must  be  freshened 
up,  I  think.  Here,  friend,  I  and  my  comrade  will 


.  .  .  the  great  bag  on  his  back,  undiminished,  save  for  two 
warrants  and  one  private  missive.  .  .  . 

bring  him  to  the  trough,  and  you  shall  do  the  pump- 
ing. We'd  better  off  with  his  jacket  first.  Never 
look  so  doubtful,  Mr.  Landlord.  If  his  Majesty 
hears  of  it,  you  may  be  decorated.  Think  of  that !" 


The  Kings  Mail  321 

"Saints  forbid!"  said  the  host,  turning  pale. 
"If  Jerome  heard  of  it,  I  might  be  shot." 

"Nay,"  said  Geiger-Hans,  cheerfully,  "you  may 
take  my  word  for  it;  the  days  are  counted  within 
which  there  will  be  either  decorations  or  execu- 
tions in  the  name  of  Jerome.  But,  meanwhile,  to 
our  duty !  Never  look  so  disgusted,  little  comrade. 
This  is  a  vile  beast,  as  you  said ;  but  in  a  minute  we 
shall  have  him  purified." 

***** 

It  was,  indeed,  a  purified  courier,  a  chastened  and 
subdued  mail- bearer,  who  trotted  his  way  on  through 
the  forest,  astride  that  self-same  horse  that  had 
dragged  him  forth  in  his  reeking  prison  the  night 
before.  He  had  the  great  bag  on  his  back  (un- 
diminished  save  for  two  warrants  and  one  private 
missive  —  one,  indeed,  that  had  already  reached  its 
proper  destination),  a  gold  piece  in  his  pocket,  and 
a  plausible  tale  of  violence  and  rescue  to  tell,  should 
it  ever  be  required  of  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


PORTENTS 


£iit  bid),  ntein  ^reunb,  »or  «d)tt>ar$en,  often 
2)od)  8d)Hmmer  Sinb  bie  n>ei83en,  jungen 


THERE  was  brilliant  sunshine  as  Steven  rode  in 
at  the  gate  of  Cassel.  The  fiddler  walked  beside' 
him;  but,  once  within  the  town,  he  halted,  waved 
his  hand,  and  called  out: 

"Good-bye." 

"How?"  cried  Steven,  drawing  rein,  his  heart 
sinking  at  this  unexpected  parting. 

"Ah,  little  bridegroom!"  said  Fiddler  Hans, 
"it  is  even  so.  And  a  pretty  figure,"  he  said, 
"should  I  be,  to  shadow  your  lordship's  magnifi- 
cence in  this  fashionable  city!" 

He  stepped  across  the  cobbles,  laid  his  hand  on 
the  horse's  neck,  and  looked  up  at  the  young  man; 
all  mockery  fled  out  of  his  eyes. 

"You  are  an  honest  lad,"  he  said,  "and  you  love 
her  —  go,  tell  her  the  naked  truth." 

***** 
322 


Portents  323 

In  her  pink-hung  bed  at  the  Bellevue  Palace, 
Betty  von  Wellenshausen  opened  a  sleepy  eye  upon 
her  surroundings.  She  yawned  and  stretched  her- 
self. It  was  good  to  wake  up  in  Cassel  and  feel  the 
bustle  of  life  about  her,  the  gay  and  ceaseless  move- 
ment, instead  of  the  rarefied  loneliness  of  Wellens- 
hausen on  the  crags,  where  the  morning  might  find 
her  higher  than  the  clouds  themselves,  with  per- 
haps scarce  the  beat  of  a  bird's  wing  across  the 
awful  stillness. 

Yes,  it  was  du  dernier  agreable  in  the  Residenz 
—  Betty's  thoughts  ran  naturally  to  French  —  to  be 
aroused  to  the  prospect  of  a  day  full  of  the  most 
new  and  diverting  experience.  .  .  .  Positively, 
Jerome  was  a  charming  fellow !  .  .  . 

...  It  was,  perhaps,  a  trifle  strong  to  ask  for 
a  secret  rendezvous  on  the  strength  of  one  meet- 
ing; but  Betty  did  not  regret  her  answer.  With- 
out being  at  all  prepared  to  yield  —  gracious  powers, 
was  one  not  to  enjoy  oneself  a  little?  .  .  .  after  three 
years  of  Wellenshausen ! 

In  the  midst  of  these  gossamer  resolves,  the  door 
creaked  apart. 

The  Burgravine  rubbed  her  eyes  and  thought 
she  must  be  still  dreaming,  for  through  the  aperture 
peered  the  heavy  countenance,  the  bristling  head  of 


324  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

her  husband  —  actually  of  the  Burgrave  of  Wellens- 
hausen  himself ! 

She  sat  up,  her  lace  cap  awry  upon  the  starting 
dark  curls,  her  cherry  mouth  open,  her  eyes  round, 
the  very  image  of  astonished  indignation.  With 
ponderous  tip-toe  tread,  not  unlike  that  of  a  wild 
boar  stepping  out  of  covert,  the  husband  entered 
the  room.  He  closed  the  door  behind  him  and 
stood  smiling,  half  timidly,  half  fatuously.  Betty's 
clenched  hands  flew  up  in  the  air  and  down  again 
on  the  sheets. 

"How  dare  you!"  she  gasped.  "Did  I  not 
forbid  you ?" 

"Oh,  come  now,  Betty,  my  little  wife,  my  little 
dove,  I've  frightened  you.  You  were  asleep,  angel? 
But  when  I  got  your  letter,  last  night,  I  lost  not  an 
instant.  His  Majesty  gave  me  leave  —  urgent 
private  affair.  Post  haste  I  came  from  Heiligenstadt. 
In  Cassel  with  the  dawn  —  a  mouthful  of  breakfast 
to  while  away  the  time  —  a  little  toilet,  and  here 
I  am.  Shaved,  my  treasure!  Your  dear  little 
letter " 

"My  ...  my  dear  little  letter?"  Betty  shrieked, 
eyes  rounder,  curls  more  startled  than  ever.  She 
sat  rigid.  "My  dear  little  letter!"  she  repeated 
under  her  breath  once  more.  Then,  as  she  re- 


Portents  325 

called  the  missive  in  question,  she  was  shaken  with 
an  irresistible  giggle.  Her  face  dimpled.  The 
Burgrave,  gazing  on  her  amorously,  thought  her 
the  most  ravishing,  the  most  maddening  being 
ever  created  for  the  delight  or  torment  of 
man. 

"Your  letter,  my  Betty,  to  Heiligenstadt,"  he 
murmured,  drew  a  pink  sheet  from  his  breast 
pocket,  and  carried  it  to  his  lips.  "What  wonder 
that,  upon  receipt  of  this,  I  could  not  delay  coming 
to  my  sweet  Betty  a  minute  longer!"  He  held 
the  note  at  arm's  length.  "Your  wifely,  your 
dutiful  words:  '/  should  indeed  be  disloyal  to  persist 
in  rebellion  against  my  lawful  lord.'  ' 

Now,  at  a  flash,  the  situation  was  laid  clear 
before  her :  —  by  some  inconceivable  carelessness 
she  had  put  her  correspondence  of  two  days  ago  in 
the  wrong  covers !  .  .  .  A  plague  on  this  new- 
fangled French  invention  of  envelopes! 

She  shut  her  lips  with  a  snap  and  swallowed 
down  the  cry  that  rose  to  them.  Rapidly  she  tried 
to  recall  that  elegant  reply  to  the  royal  importunities 
which  had  given  her  so  much  satisfaction ;  and  then 
all  other  feelings  were  lost  in  a  gush  of  gratitude 
to  the  Providence  that  had  suggested  those  ambigu- 
ous terms  which  saved  the  situation  —  saved  Betty, 


326  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Burgrave  of  Wellenshausen,   from  premature  dis- 
covery, irreparable  disgrace. 

She  turned  and  smiled  adorably  on  the  Burgrave. 

"Monster,"    she    murmured,    "do    you    deserve 

forgiveness?" 

***** 

Steven  halted  at  the  first  inn  on  his  way,  at  the 
sign  of  the  Aigle  Imperial  —  a  new  French  sign 
upon  an  old  and  solidly  Germanic  house.  Here 
he  put  up  his  horse  and  engaged  a  room. 

The  best  he  could  obtain  was  on  the  second  floor. 
The  town  was  full  of  officers  —  a  regular  military 
citadel  now,  and  Cassel,  that  used  to  be  a 
quiet  Residenz.  .  .  .  Honourable  guests  could  no 
longer  be  entertained  as  was  their  due,  mine  host 
informed  him  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  Steven, 
however,  was  indifferent  enough ;  it  was  not  his  pur- 
pose to  remain  an  hour  longer  in  Jerome's  capital 
than  he  could  help.  Indeed,  he  dropped  some  words 
concerning  the  equipage  he  would  probably  require 
—  it  might  be  that  very  evening  —  which  gave  the 
landlord  an  insight  into  a  long  purse  and  magnifi- 
cent habits  of  travel. 

This  worthy,  therefore,  sped  the  stranger  towards 
the  Royal  Palace  with  far  greater  urbanity  than 
he  had  displayed  on  his  arrival,  and  stood  staring 


Portents  327 

after  him  with  some  curiosity :  —  unattended,  upon 
a  bony  old  horse,  and  airs  of  a  prince  withal  .  .  . 
a  sable  cloak  than  which  the  King  himself  wore 
no  better  .  .  .  and  we  want,  if  you  please,  a  travel- 
ling carriage  and  four  of  the  best  horses  obtainable. 
We  don't  mind  buying  if  they  are  not  to  be  hired. 
.  .  .  Oho,  ei,  ei! 

"The  town  is  turned  into  a  citadel."  The  words 
recurred  to  Steven  as  he  swung  down  the  ill-paved 
street.  The  very  air  throbbed  to  military  rhythm. 
In  the  fields,  without  the  walls  and  on  the  new 
ramparts,  everywhere,  levies  were  being  exercised, 
to  judge  by  the  tramp  of  feet,  the  calls  and  counter 
calls  of  bugles,  the  distant  blare  of  marching  bands, 
the  beat  of  drums,  cries  of  command,  rattle  of  sham 
fire.  The  little  brown  town  itself  was  filled  with 
the  most  heterogeneous  throng  —  Hanoverian  and 
Westphalian  hangers-on  of  the  Court;  French  and 
Corsican  adventurers ;  soldiers  of  as  varied  national- 
ities as  were  the  uniforms  of  Jerome's  fretful  fancy ; 
grenadiers,  late  of  his  brother,  briefly  royal  of  Hol- 
land, in  their  red  coatees;  wonderful  blue  hussars 
(French  most  of  them)  very  gallant,  with  a  wealth 
of  jangle,  whether  ahorse  or  afoot  —  these  same 
wonderful  blue  hussars,  some  of  whom  Steven  had 
seen  driven  by  the  sheep-skin  Cossacks  like  wrack 


328  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

before  the  storm;  dragons  d'Espagne,  in  green  and 
orange,  stern,  lean  and  war-worn  (unscrupulously 
intercepted,  these,  on  their  way  to  rejoin  their  im- 
perial leader,  and  here  disdainful  of  pinchbeck 
king  and  petty  service) ;  stolid  Westphalian  recruits 
lounging  along  the  cobbles  with  the  slouch  of  dis- 
content; astounding  diplomats  driving  about,  clad 
in  astounding  embroideries;  academicians,  too, 
with  the  green  palm  on  coat-tail  and  cuff,  for  "Little 
Brother  Jerome"  played  at  being  as  like  big  brother 
Napoleon  as  might  be. 

Market  boors  plodded  by,  blue-stockinged,  crim- 
son-waistcoated  and  wide-hatted;  shapeless  coun- 
try wenches  tramped,  and  fair  ladies,  reclining  in 
coaches,  flashed  past  Steven;  and  quite  a  swarm 
of  lackeys,  postilions,  chasseurs,  with  all  the  inso- 
lence of  the  servants  of  dissolute  masters,  elbowed 
him  aside,  or  appraised  him  with  open  comment. 
Had  he  not  been  so  absorbed  in  his  private  anxiety, 
he  might  have  noted,  in  spite  of  the  air  of  gaiety, 
the  bustle  and  the  extravagance,  certain  ominous 
igns  of  impending  cataclysm  around  him  —  the 
Avift  passage  here  and  there  of  an  urgent  courier; 
the  grave  countenances  of  some  officials;  the  little 
groups,  whispering  together  in  by-streets,  dissolving 
at  the  first  hint  of  approaching  police;  the  singing 


Portents  329 

defiance  of  the  students ;  the  sullenness  of  the  poorer 
burghers;  and,  above  all,  the  febrile,  over-strained 
note  in  the  very  merriment  of  the  ruling  class  itself. 
There  was  a  tinkling  of  madcap-bells  at  the  Palace 
of  Jerome  that  rang  into  the  town;  no  one  within 
those  walls  had  a  mind  to  hearken  to  the  reverberat- 
ing echoes  of  Berlin  and  Hamburg  and  Dresden. 

Heartily  as  he  despised  the  sovereign  and  his 
army;  careless  as  he  was,  in  the  absorption  of 
his  own  vexed  affairs,  of  the  dire  threat  that  hung 
upon  the  land,  Steven  could  not  but  find  something 
inspiriting  in  the  martial  sounds  and  sights.  Un- 
consciously his  step  fell  to  the  measure  of  some 
distant  drums.  He  had  a  valiant  sense  of  marching 
upon  victory  as  he  turned  into  the  palace  courtyard. 
On  the  strength  of  his  splendid  air,  the  sentries 
saluted  him  without  challenging.  A  huge  green- 
uniformed  Swiss  porter  bowed  before  him. 

The  first  check  —  and  it  was  a  slight  one  — 
was  that  no  such  person  as  the  Grdfin  Waldorff- 
Kielmansegg  was  known  at  the  Palace.  She  had 
to  be  explained  as  the  niece  of  Chancellor  Wellens- 
hausen,  as  the  young  Baroness  Sidonia,  before 
her  identity  could  be  established.  Then,  once  more, 
all  was  smiles  and  bows.  Nothing  could  be  easier 
than  to  see  the  gracious  Frdulein.  He  was  passed 


330  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

from  Swiss  porter  to  royal  French  lackey ;  conducted 
by  the  royal  French  lackey  through  several  corridors 
and  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  then  delivered  to  no  less 
a  person  than  dapper  Kurtz,  the  Burgrave's  own 
Jager.  This  latter  gave  him  first  a  stare,  then  a 
sharp,  meaning  look,  but,  nevertheless,  introduced 
him  without  demur  to  a  kind  of  ante-room.  Here 
Steven  was  left;  and  here  he  had  to  wait  a  length 
of  time,  which  seemed  to  him  first  ill-omened,  then 
positively  insulting. 

It  was  a  quaint  room,  painted  with  impossible 
nosegays  of  flowers  and  cornucopias  running  over 
with  gargantuan  fruit.  It  gave,  as  did  the  whole 
apartment,  on  the  Bellevue  Gardens;  and,  through 
the  yellowing  trees,  he  could  see  distant  gleams 
of  the  Fulda,  blue  under  a  blue  sky.  A  merry 
party  was  playing  bowls  on  the  boulingrin;  and, 
though  it  was  screened  from  sight  by  sundry  formal 
clipped  hedges,  Steven  could  hear  the  interchange 
of  voices,  ladies'  laughter,  the  banter  of  men. 

As  the  minutes  passed  and  there  came  to  him 
no  sound  from  within  the  apartment,  the  tinkling, 
irresponsible  gaiety  without  grew  to  be  a  personal 
irritation.  The  very  sunshine  that  had  cheered 
him  on  his  way  was  now  a  mockery;  the  distant 
tunefulness  of  trumpets,  a  boding.  More  than  once 


Portents  331 

he  lifted  his  hands  impatiently  towards  the  bell- 
rope,  but  each  time  refrained:  so  much  hung  in 
the  balance,  he  must  be  patient.  Patient !  He 
ground  his  teeth  as  he  paced  the  bright,  absurd 

room. 

***** 

Kurtz  brought  the  message  intended  for  Sidonia 
straight  to  the  Burgravine.  He  was  an  astute 
young  man,  and  knew  the  most  likely  quarter  for 
promotion.  Betty  was  at  the  moment  engaged 
with  the  contents  of  a  milliner's  box,  choosing 
a  hat  to  wear  with  a  certain  new  green  redingote 
at  the  review  to  be  held  that  afternoon.  Some- 
thing it  must  have  of  the  military  cock,  without 
offending  the  feminine  graces.  It  was  matter  of 
the  deepest  moment.  But  Betty,  it  has  been  hinted, 
had  a  capable  mind  —  a  facility  for  grasping  several 
issues  at  the  same  time.  She  rose  promptly  to  the 
new  situation. 

"Bid  Baroness  Sidonia  come  to  me,"  she  ordered. 
Then,  tartly  recalling  her  maid,  who  was  edging 
towards  the  door:  "Eliza,  where  are  you  going?" 
she  cried. 

"Mon  Dieu,"  said  Eliza,  innocently,  "but  to 
inform  mademoiselle  that  some  one  is  waiting  for 
her.  And,  indeed,"  she  added,  seeing  by  the  flash 


332  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

of  her  lady's  eye  that  her  good-natured  intention 
was  frustrated  —  "indeed,  madam,  it  is  strange 
what  a  foolish  habit  we  have  all  got  into  of  calling 
madam's  niece  Mademoiselle.  It  is  the  young 
countess,  I  should  say." 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  was  about  to  wax 
eloquent  on  the  subject  of  her  pleasure  at  M.  le 
Comte  Kielmansegg's  reappearance  and  of  her 
rooted  conviction  that  they  were  un  Hen  gentil 
couple,  divinely  destined  for  each  other,  when  her 
mistress  peremptorily  reduced  her  to  silence.  Kurtz 
thereupon  vanished  in  his  brisk  soldier  way. 

Betty  selected  another  hat  and  set  it  on  her  curly 
head.  It  had  an  adorably  impudent  tilt  and  a 
bunch  of  orange  cock-feathers. 

"That,  madame,"  said  the  French  milliner,  her 
thin  elbows  akimbo,  her  bright,  familiar  eyes  fixed 
admiringly  on  her  client  —  "that,  madame,  we  call 
the  Shako  a  la  Saxonne  —  it  is  everything  that  is 
new  —  an  inspiration  after  the  battle  of  Liitzen. 
And  there  is  not  another  lady  in  Cassel  will  have 
anything  like  it." 

Betty  twisted  her  figure  from  side  to  side,  and 
surveyed  herself  in  the  long  mirror.  She  had  donned 
the  long  narrow  redingote  to  be  sure  of  her  effect, 
and  the  rich  dark  green  of  the  velvet  threw  her  face 


Portents  333 

into  charming  relief.  The  orange  note  of  the  feather 
was  the  perfecting  touch. 

"I  really  think  —  I  really  think  I  will  have  it." 
She  spoke  lingeringly:  these  things  do  not  decide 
themselves  without  reflection. 

Sidonia  came  in  slowly.  Betty  ran  a  keen  eye 
over  the  girl ;  the  fair  hair  was  rough,  and  that  was 
a  dreadful  little  garment  of  Wellenshausen  manu- 
facture .  .  .  pale  face,  heavy  eyes !  Betty  broke 
into  a  laugh.  Life  was  really  very  amusing  at  times. 

"You  sent  for  me,  aunt?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Somebody  has  called  to  see  you, 
it  seems." 

"To  see  me?"  Sidonia  drew  her  breath  quickly. 
Crimson  rushed  to  her  face. 

"Dear  child,"  said  the  Burgravine,  in  her  most 
cooing  voice,  "do  not  agitate  yourself;  you  need 
not  see  him  unless  you  wish.  Yes,  my  love,  it  is 
that  tiresome  man  again  —  my  wretched  cousin 
Kielmansegg." 

Sidonia  swayed  a  little,  but  caught  herself  up, 
fiercely  erect;  then  the  blood  began  to  ebb  from 
her  cheeks. 

"I  will  go  to  him,"  she  said  under  her  voice. 
"Where  is  he?" 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  just  as  well,"   said  the 


334  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Burgravine,  carelessly.  "You  can  hurry  matters 
on  about  the  annulment.  Truly,  it  is  fortunate," 
she  laughed,  "that  we  shall  not  now  have  to  hunt 
for  him  God  knows  where,  in  order  to  free  you, 
my  poor  little  Sidonia,  from  this  absurd  busi- 
ness." 

"Aunt!"  cried  the  girl,  indignantly,  with  a 
glance  at  the  milliner.  —  How  could  Aunt  Betty 
laugh  so  heartlessly,  how  dared  she  discuss  these 
most  intimate  affairs,  before  a  stranger!" 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  the  elder  lady,  "she  does 
not  understand  one  word  of  our  savage  language 
—  too  true  a  Frenchwoman  for  that,  my  dear! 
Now,  about  this  traitor.  (There  you  go  white  and 
red,  you  silly  thing.)  .  .  .  Everything  can  be  settled 
by  Yes  or  No !  Either  he  wants  to  carry  off  his 
heiress,  or  he  is  content  with  your  decision.  He 
has,  of  course,  received  your  letter.  Heavens, 
my  dear,  did  we  not  discuss  it  all  before?  And, 
anyhow,  it  is  not  a  matter  for  heroics.  Lord  knows, 
I  don't  want  to  interfere;  it  is  entirely  for  you  to 
decide  whether  you  are  on  or  off  with  the  bargain. 
For  I  will  lay  forty  wagers  he  is  here  to  protest. 
Ah,  I  know  my  young  Viennese  gentlemen;  they 
cannot  have  too  much  gold  at  their  back.  — 
Decidedly,  Madame  Athenai's,  I  keep  this  hat." 


Portents  335 

It  was  too  adorable  to  be  taken  off  her  head  even 
for  a  moment. 

Sidonia  stood,  clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands. 
Every  word  her  aunt  spoke,  dropped  apparently 
with  such  heedlessness,  but  in  reality  with  such  subtle 
intent,  stabbed  her  to  her  sore  heart. 

"Approach,  my  dear,"  said  Betty,  maternally, 
"and  let  me,  for  heaven's  sake,  run  a  comb  through 
your  hair.  Mercy  on  us,  child,  what  a  gown ! 
Had  you  not  better  change  it?" 

"No,"  said  Sidonia,  sullenly.  She  went,  on 
leaden  foot,  to  her  aunt's  toilet  table  and  gave  an 
unseeing  touch  to  her  hair. 

Betty  looked  over  her  shoulder;  the  two  faces 
were  reflected  side  by  side.  Sidonia's  reflection 
in  the  glass  looked  positively  ugly  —  in  her  own 
eyes.  In  Betty's,  too,  apparently,  for  she  cried, 
with  an  air  of  great  generosity  and  wisdom: 

"I  would  offer  to  go  with  you,  to  support  you, 
my  angel ;  but  after  what  has  passed  —  I  think 
it  were  wiser  he  should  not  see  me.  After  all,  who 
knows?  You  may  patch  it  up.  But,  Sidonia,  you 
really  ought  to  make  yourself  a  little  tidy." 

Madame  Athenais,  who,  if  she  had  that  igno- 
rance of  the  German  language  attributed  to  her 
ultra- Parisian  nature,  had  contrived  nevertheless 


336  "If  Youth  but  Knew !  " 

to  follow  the  dialogue  pretty  closely,  here  inter- 
posed with  the  unctuous  familiarity  of  her  kind: 

"  Oh,  if  the  young  lady  is  going  to  have  an  inter- 
view of  importance,  it  is  certain  she  should  make 
some  toilet.  See,  if  mademoiselle  permits,  I  will 
show  her  a  hat  that  is  the  very  thing  for  the  occasion. 
Something  young,  young,  quite  virginal,  yet,  coquet, 
alluring !  —  something  no  gentleman  of  taste  could 
resist  on  mademoiselle's  head!" 

Sidonia  —  she  was  but  seventeen,  after  all  — 
stamped  her  foot. 

"Leave  me  in  peace,  all  of  you !"  she  cried,  and 
made  for  the  door. 

The  keenest  of  all  Betty's  stabs  she  carried 
away  in  her  heart;  that  was  the  vision  of  Betty 
herself,  so  fair,  so  distracting  in  her  plumed  hat, 
beside  Sidonia,  plain,  awkward,  ill-dressed  —  poor 
Sidonia  whom  Steven  had  married  .  .  .  without 
love!  Betty's  words:  "It  were  wiser  he  should 
not  see  me,"  sang  in  her  ears  to  the  fierce  accom- 
paniment of  her  own  jealous  blood.  She  recalled 
the  smile  and  the  glance  at  her  own  reflection  in 
the  mirror,  with  which  Betty  had  pointed  her  con- 
cession to  wisdom.  Hot-tempered  by  nature,  Si- 
donia had  yet  never  even  suspected  the  existence  of 
such  passion  as  now  rent  her. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

THE   PERVERSENESS   OF   WORDS 


"  SSerriet  mein  blades  2htge8id)t 
25ir  ntcljt  mein  £iebe«roef)e  ? 
Unb  ttnllst  bit,  ba««  ber  «tol$e  SDfunb 
®a«  33etteltt>ort  gefteb,e?" 

HEINE. 

STEVEN,  stretching  a  determined  hand  at  last  to 
the  bell,  was  arrested  in  the  act  by  the  sound  of 
the  opening  door.  He  turned  to  see  Sidonia  stand- 
ing in  the  entrance. 

It  seemed  as  if,  after  all,  these  two  were  as 
yet  unripe  for  love's  fulfilment.  The  pride  of 
each,  unchastened,  the  quick  susceptibilities,  the 
unreasonable  expectations  and  demands  of  the 
crudely  young,  built  frowning  barriers  between 
them. 

Steven,  who  but  last  night  had  burned  with 
ardour  for  his  lost  bride;  who,  but  this  morning, 
had  set  out  to  win  her  back,  tender,  conquering, 
almost  joyous,  felt  the  fretful  impatience  of  his 
ten  minutes  of  waiting  leap  into  positive  anger 
z  337 


338  "//  Youth  but  Knew!" 

under  the  accusing  glance  of  Sidonia's  eyes.  Their 
looks  met  —  one  might  almost  say,  struck  —  like 
steel  blades,  each  quick  to  feel  and  resent  the  other's 
attitude. 

"Ah,  no,  he  does  not  love!"  cried  the  girl,  in 
her  heart.  And  - 

"She  never  loved  me,"  said  the  man  in  his  pride. 
"I  have  been  a  triple  fool !  " 

But  did  she  think  that  a  Waldorff-Kielmansegg 
was  thus  to  be  played  with,  made  the  sport  of 
heaven  knew  what  ignoble  feminine  intrigue,  a 
marriage  of  convenience,  quickly  repented  of,  and 
then,  farewell?  No,  he  had  his  rights  as  a  man, 
his  honour  to  defend,  and  things  could  not  end 
here. 

"What  brings  you?"  asked  Sidonia.  Being  the 
woman,  she  was  the  first  to  speak. 

His  tone  was  harsh  as  he  made  answer:  "Because 
it  is  time  this  folly  should  cease.  Because  you  are 
my  wife.  Because  you  bear  my  name.  Because 
your  honour  is  mine,  and  I  will  not  have  you  run- 
ning about  the  world  —  under  no  better  guard  than 
that  of  Burgravine  Betty." 

The  contempt  of  his  accents,  the  doubt,  stung 
her  beyond  bearing. 

"By   all   accounts,"   she  cried  —  and   there    was 


The  Perverseness  of  Words  339 

almost  a  sneer  upon  her  sweet  lips  —  "you  had 
been  willing  enough,  not  so  long  ago,  to  trust  her 
with  your  own  honour." 

So  the  fiddler  had  been  right/  Betty  had  made 
mischief !  The  thought  danced  a  moment  through 
Steven's  brain;  but  in  the  confusion  of  anger  he 
failed  to  seize  its  real  import. 

Sidonia  went  on,  vainly  endeavouring  to  steady 
her  voice  as  it  throbbed  to  the  beating  of  her  heart : 

"You  talk  of  honour!  Is  it  honourable  to  speak 
of  her  like  this  —  is  it  generous?" 

"Generous?"  he  echoed.  "Will  you  teach 
me  generosity,  you  who  drove  me  away,  without 
explanation  —  without  giving  me  a  chance  to  ex- 
plain? You,  the  bride  of  an  hour !" 

"Come,  then,  I  am  listening  now.  Explain." 
Her  accent,  her  air,  were  passionately  peremp- 
tory. Her  fingers  sought  hastily  in  the  reticule 
at  her  side  —  the  tangible  evidence  of  her  misfor- 
tune was  hidden  there.  She  laid  the  note  before 
him  on  the  table,  spreading  it  and  smoothing  it 
out  for  him,  even  as  Betty  had  done  for  her  on  the 
wedding  day,  in  the  turret  at  Wellenshausen.  "  Ex- 
plain this,"  she  said. 

Steven  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  incriminating 
document,  opened  his  r~outh  upon  scorn  and  denial, 


340  "If  Youth  but  Knew/" 

then  checked  himself  with  a  bitter  laugh  and  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"Tell  her  the  naked  truth !"  It  was  the  fiddler's 
advice.  To  tell  her  upon  what  a  petty  rock  their 
barque  was  foundering  ...  it  ought  to  have  been 
an  easy  thing !  Yet  the  man  stood,  contemptuous, 
smiling,  silent.  Every  instinct  of  his  being  revolted 
against  the  girl's  haughty  command.  His  pride 
alone  would  have  kept  him  mute,  but  there  was 
something  yet  stronger,  more  intimate,  to  restrain 
him.  "Tell  her  the  naked  truth!"  Naked  enough 
was  the  truth,  ugly  enough,  sordid  enough,  to  be 
convincing  if  he  could  have  brought  himself  to  speak 
it !  The  truth  ?  Why,  here  it  would  have  been : 
"Your  Aunt  Betty  offered  herself  to  me,  threw 
herself  upon  my  protection.  I  did  not  love  her, 
I  did  not  want  her.  She  gave  me  no  choice;  and 
this  is  her  woman's  revenge!" 

Aye,  it  is  all  very  well  to  say :  "You  are  an  honest 
lad."  But  if  a  gentleman  has  behind  him  long 
generations  of  gentlemen,  each  of  whom  has  planned 
his  life  upon  the  conventional  code  of  honour  among 
gentlemen,  he  cannot  easily  bring  his  lips  to  form 
the  words  that  will  betray  a  woman  in  relation  to 
himself  —  least  of  all,  perhaps,  where  he  has  been 
loved  and  has  not  loved  in  return. 


The  Perverseness  of  Words  341 

So  his  lips  were  silent  upon  that  smile  of  scorn. 
And  Sidonia's  last  hope  —  how  strong  it  had  been, 
how  dear,  she  never  knew  till  this  moment  —  ago- 
nized within  her.  That  he  should  mock  her  for 
jealousy:  that  was  the  supreme  insult. 

As  in  a  flash  of  unbearable  illumination  she  saw 
herself  in  his  eyes,  heavy-lidded,  unkempt;  saw 
the  figure  that  had  provoked  just  now  even  Betty's 
pity;  saw  beside  her,  Betty,  rich  in  loveliness, 
velvet  clad  ...  it  was  no  wonder  that  Beau  Cousin 
Kielmansegg  should  fix  her  with  this  smile,  this 
contempt. 

And  Steven,  in  his  morgue,  who  would  have 
perished  rather  than  condescend  to  explain  — 
could  he  but  have  known  (Ah,  if  youth  but  knew !) 
that  no  explanation  was  really  needed  of  him,  that 
no  words  are  ever  needed  in  the  great  crises  of  life ! 
Words  are  our  enemies.  The  inability  to  express 
the  subtleties  of  wounded  feeling,  the  false  witness 
that  our  tongues  bear  against  us,  have  divided 
more  lovers  secretly  yearning  for  each  other  than 
ever  did  most  adverse  circumstances.  One  touch 
of  his  hand  on  hers,  one  kiss  upon  her  lips,  and 
Sidonia  would  have  felt  the  truth,  would  have  under- 
stood that  he  loved  her,  and  that,  to  him  who  loves, 
the  beloved  is  queen.  Angry  Steven,  Steven  the 


342  "If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

lover,  had  never  even  noticed  the  dishevelment  of 
her  bright  hair.  Her  face  was  pale  ?  —  it  was  a  pearl 
in  his  eyes.  Her  attire  was  shabby  ?  —  it  might 
have  been  a  garment  of  state.  Had  Betty  broken 
in  on  them  then,  in  all  her  glory,  he  would  have 
drawn  no  comparison,  save  to  the  superlative  ad- 
vantage of  the  woman  who  was  his  choice. 

Alas !  if  youth  but  knew  ! 

From  the  bowling  green  without  came  a  gust 
of  laughter;  then  a  light  voice  broke  into  a  stave 
of  popular  song.  They  had,  in  happier  moments, 
heard  that  lilt  upon  the  fiddle  of  wandering  Hans; 
it  struck  them  poignantly.  Wounded  love  flamed 
into  intemperate  resentment. 

"After  all,  Aunt  Betty  but  told  me  the  truth, 
if  a  little  late  —  you  have  nothing  to  say,"  said 
Sidonia,  between  teeth  clenched  upon  a  sob. 

"Only  this,"  replied  Steven,  arrogantly,  from 
the  height  of  his  disdain,  "that  I  command  you, 
as  your  husband,  to  come  with  me  now." 

Sidonia  pointed  to  the  door. 

" H 'err  Graf  von  Kielmansegg,  my  uncle  expects 
to  hear  from  the  judges  to-day  anent  the  annulment 
of  that  ill-considered  ceremony  which  made  me 
nominally  your  wife.  His  lawyers  will  call  upon 
you  in  due  course," 


The  Perverseness  of  Words  343 

"Madam,"  answered  the  count,  bowing,  "I 
intend  to  take  up  my  abode  in  Cassel  —  at  the  Aigle 
Imperial.  Therefore  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about 
my  address.  But  let  me  remark  that  annulments 
are  not  easily  concluded  without  the  consent  of  both 
parties." 

He  closed  the  door  between  them  upon  these 
words. 

"He  does  not  love  me  —  he  never  loved  me!" 
said  Sidonia  to  her  bursting  heart.  "It  was  all 
pride!" 

The  other  unworthy  suspicions,  which  Betty 
had  so  subtly  instilled,  could  not  live  in  her  soul 
after  having  come  again  under  the  glance  of  Steven's 
eye.  But  she  had  pride  too,  her  woman's  pride, 
and  it  showed  her  what  she  had  to  do,  even  though 
it  killed  her. 

"O  Geiger-Onkel,"  cried  the  poor  child,  "what 
have  you  brought  me  to !  Even  you  have  abandoned 
me!" 

Betty's  arrows,  shot  at  spiteful  random,  occa- 
sionally hit  a  truer  mark  than  she  herself  suspected. 
When,  in  her  tower  prison,  she  had  petulantly 
averred  that  the  Burgrave  would  certainly  keep 
in  his  own  hands  the  choosing  of  Sj^onja's  husband 


344  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

(and  for  very  good  reasons !)  she  had  unconsciously 
struck  the  gold.  The  heiress's  guardian  did  not 
intend,  if  it  could  be  helped,  to  have  his  accounts 
examined.  Hence,  apart  from  the  humiliating 
pressure  put  upon  him,  against  which  his  elementary 
violence  rebelled,  the  young  Austrian  was  the  last 
person  the  Burgrave  would  have  desired  as  nephew- 
in-law.  There  was  a  relentlessness  in  the  young 
man's  eye  and  a  clear  penetration,  which,  whenever 
the  Burgrave  remembered  them,  sent  uncomfort- 
able chills  through  his  frame.  True,  Count  Kiel- 
mansegg  had  never  breathed  one  syllable  on  the 
subject  of  his  bride's  fortune;  but  this  very  silence 
struck  the  Chancellor  as  the  more  ominous. 

"I  shall  have  his  lawyers  on  top  of  me  before 
I  know  where  I  am,"  he  had  many  a  time  growled 
in  those  sullen  days  that  followed  Sidonia's  betrothal, 
chiefly  at  those  hours  of  conscience's  activity,  the 
dull  hours  before  the  dawn,  when  the  night's  pota- 
tions had  ceased  to  stimulate. 

It  was  not  that  Wellenshausen  had  ever  been 
consciously  dishonest.  In  his  fine  masculine,  Ger- 
manic way,  when  he  had  put  large  sums  of  his 
ward's  money  to  his  own  uses,  he  had  felt  himself 
almost  in  the  right.  Was  it  not  against  nature  that 
mere  females  should  have  advantages  over  the 


The  Perverseness  of  Words  345 

male?  Indeed,  he  had  scarcely  taken  the  trouble 
to  make  memoranda  of  the  expenditure :  in  Jerome's 
kingdom,  especially  in  financial  matters,  it  was 
never  customary  to  waste  time  upon  details,  and 
the  sense  of  impending  catastrophe,  more  particu- 
larly of  late,  had  increased  the  sense  of  the  value 
of  the  fleeting  moment. 

Since  his  second  marriage  the  Burgrave  had 
certainly  taken  both  hands  to  Sidonia's  treasure. 
There  was  the  loan  to  his  Royal  Master;  a  matter 
of  high  diplomacy !  It  was  well  to  have  a  lien 
over  so  slippery  a  patron.  And,  besides,  it  would 
be  all  to  the  child's  advantage,  no  doubt,  later  on. 
Practically  an  investment !  There  were  Betty's 
pearls.  .  .  .  Well,  in  these  uncertain  times,  might 
not  jewels  also  be  looked  upon  as  an  investment? 
none  the  worse  for  having  gleamed  so  charmingly 
on  Betty's  shoulders ! 

And  there  was  this,  and  there  was  that.  .  .  . 
In  the  small  hours  above  mentioned,  memory 
became  inconveniently  active.  Once  or  twice  the 
Burgrave  had  sat  up  in  his  feather-bed  to  wipe  a 
clammy  forehead;  in  truth,  he  did  not  know  how 
much  the  heiress  of  Wellenshausen,  apart  from 
the  lands,  was  heiress  to.  But  there  was  a  certain 
document  of  his  late  brother's,  referring,  in  very 


346  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

precise  terms,  to  the  Fideicommission,  to  the  trust. 

It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  when  Sidonia  had 
come  to  him,  on  the  day  of  the  wedding,  where  he 
sat  glowering  over  his  wine-cup  and  the  remains 
of  the  feast,  and  had  told  him  how  she  and  her 
new  husband  had  parted  for  ever,  the  relief  should 
have  been  so  unexpected  and  so  great  as  completely 
to  sober  him. 

In  a  spasm  of  paternal  affection  he  had  assured 
her  that  such  a  ceremony  could  not  count,  and 
that  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to 
release  her,  since  she  wished  it. 

She  had  looked  at  him  stonily  over  her  bridal 
white.  Was  that  indeed  the  case?  she  had  asked. 
She  had  thought  marriages  were  for  ever. 

And  he  had  laughed  at  her  joyously.  "Na, 
na,  little  dove  —  a  marriage  of  this  kind,  if  one 
wishes  it,  was  as  good  as  no  marriage  at  all!" 

"Then  see  to  it,  please,"  she  had  said  steadily, 
avoiding  his  embrace. 

There  was  horror  in  the  look  she  cast  upon  him 
as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room;  but  he  was  too 
completely  absorbed  in  his  joy  to  see  anything  but 
the  deliverance  before  him.  He  never  even  paused 
to  wonder,  to  inquire  the  reason  of  the  breach  — 
and  this,  doubtless,  had  been  well  for  Betty. 


The  Perversencss  of  Words  347 

The  connubial  migration  to  Cassel,  consent  to 
which  had  been  wrung  from  him  at  the  expense 
of  so  much  mental  agony,  now  became  a  project 
which  could  not  be  soon  enough,  to  please  him, 
put  into  execution.  For  would  it  not  mean  the 
prompt  legal  annulment  of  Sidonia's  most  inoppor- 
tune alliance?  His  original  jealousy  of  Beau 
Cousin  would  seem  to  have  been  the  one  thing 
really  murdered  in  the  oubliette;  yet,  perhaps, 
somewhere  deep  down  in  his  consciousness,  there 
faintly  stirred,  beneath  all  the  other  reasons  for 
relief,  a  satisfaction  at  the  thought  that  Cousin 
Kielmansegg  could  never  again  be  made  welcome 
to  the  house  that  had  sheltered  his  divorced  wife. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   WAYS   OF   LITTLE   COURTS 

"  Thinkest  thou  there  is  no  tyranny  but  that 
Of  blood  and  chains  ?     The  despotism  of  vice  — 
The  weakness  and  the  -wickedness  of  luxury  — 
Of  sensual  sloth — produce  ten  thousand  tyrants." 

BYRON. 

BETTY  came  thoughtfully  into  her  husband's  pres- 
ence. The  review  had  not  been  a  success.  In 
spite  of  velvet  redingote  and  yellow  plumes,  she  could 
not  flatter  herself  that  Jerome  had  singled  her  out. 
She  began  to  have  qualms  as  to  the  results  of  that 
unexplained  and  inexplicable  mistake  in  her  corre- 
spondence. She  had  fully  promised  herself  that  the 
first  glance  between  her  and  the  King  would  deli- 
cately give  him  to  understand  that  her  rigour  was 
not  as  eternal  as  the  uncompromising  "Never"  might 
have  led  him  to  believe. 

Indeed,  with  natural  optimism,  under  the  rosy 
atmosphere  evolved  between  her  mirror  and  the 
shako  a  la  Saxonne,  she  had  come  to  tell  herself 
that  the  unintended  rebuff  was,  perhaps,  not  a  thing 

348 


The   Ways  of  Little  Courts  349 

to  be  regretted  after  all.  Kings  or  chancellors, 
or  simple  Viennese  lieutenants,  men  were  much 
the  same,  she  took  it.  And,  as  the  experienced 
French  have  it,  tenir  la  dragee  haute,  was  none  too 
bad  a  way  to  make  the  creatures  yearn  for  it.  Was 
not  her  own  Burgrave  a  telling  proof? 

But  the  fact  remained  that  Jerome  had  not  even 
seemed  aware  of  her  existence  that  afternoon.  Some- 
thing had  gone  wrong  about  the  review.  At  the 
last  moment  it  had  been  found  wiser  to  leave  a 
certain  regiment  in  barracks,  information  having 
transpired  about  a  leaven  of  disloyalty.  Jerome's 
brow  had  been  thunder  black.  There  had  been 
a  vast  amount  of  discussion  between  him  and  five 
or  six  generals.  And  finally  the  King  had  left  the 
field  in  high  displeasure,  before  the  programme  of 
evolutions  had  been  half  concluded.  And  it  was 
a  painful  fact  that  none  of  the  populace  cheered 
him  as  he  went. 

Certainly,  if  he  had  not  looked  at  her,  he  had, 
at  least,  looked  at  no  other  fair  one.  Still,  the 
day  had  been  a  failure  for  the  Burgravine;  and, 
as  she  drove  back  to  the  Palace,  she  had  actually 
some  doubts  as  to  the  shako.  In  her  own  apart- 
ment a  new  trouble  confronted  her.  Sidonia, 
who  had  locked  herself  up  alone  after  that  momen- 


350  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

tous  interview,  now  came  very  calmly  to  greet  her. 
She  had  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  —  thus  do  we  cherish 
vipers  in  our  bosom  !  —  Eliza's  fingers  had  obviously 
been  busy  on  the  yellow  head.  The  child  was  posi- 
tively coiffee!  Yes,  and  she  was  dressed,  too:  a 
fashionable  creature.  And  pretty  —  undeniably 
pretty,  in  a  singular,  girlish  way  of  her  own.  And 
not  a  word  could  the  most  insidious  question  draw 
from  her  lips.  Betty  was  forced,  in  the  end,  to  apply 
to  Eliza.  The  tirewoman  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
She  knew  well  enough  what  had  passed,  but  it  was 
too  much  to  expect  her  to  gratify  her  mistress. 

"Cannot  madame  see?  Ah,  it  will  not  be  long 
before  those  two  are  together  again !  If  she  coquets 
a  little,  certes,  it  will  not  be  madame  who  will  blame 
her!  Oh,  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  mademoiselle 
is  making  herself  beautiful !  Who  knows  if  she  will 
not  meet  him  to-morrow  night!" 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  the  Burgravine,  disagree- 
ably struck,  "you  do  not  mean  that  she  intends  to 
go  to  the  fete!" 

"But,  yes,  madame;  she  has  been  choosing  her 
dress.  And  oh,  I  know  some  one  who  will  look 
pretty." 

"But  the  deeds  are  actually  drawn  up.  The  mar- 
riage is  as  good  as  annulled  already,"  cried  Betty. 


The   Ways  of  Little  Courts  351 

Eliza  clacked  her  tongue  contemptuously.  "Until 
people  are  divorced,  they  are  still  married,"  she 
remarked  sagely.  "And  it  is  not  the  young  gentle- 
man who  wants  a  divorce,  I  can  tell  madame. 
'  Oh,  how  he  is  enamoured ! '  says  Kurtz  to  me. 
'He  came  in  like  a  lion  roaring,'  says  Kurtz.  'That 
is  love,'  he  says  to  me.  'Beautiful!'  he  says." 

Betty  snapped  herself  out  of  her  maid's  hands, 
flung  herself  into  a  wrapper  and  went  to  seek  the 
Burgrave. 

As  matters  stood,  the  storm-wind  of  injured  vanity 
and  jealousy  blowing  very  strong,  she  actually 
would  rather  give  up  her  conquest  of  Jerome  than, 
she  thought,  the  sweets  of  revenge.  In  the  Bur- 
grave  she  had  an  ally  —  she  never  paused  to  wonder 
why,  so  little  did  she  heed  the  flight  of  her  arrows. 

Before  they  parted,  the  sagacious  couple,  for 
once  warmly  united,  were  agreed  that  until  Sidonia 
were  provided  with  another  husband,  they  could 
scarcely  feel  themselves  safe  from  Kielmansegg's 
persecution.  Now,  in  the  court  of  Jerome,  husbands 
had  been  known  to  be  provided  for  people  at  the 
shortest  notice  .  .  .  things  had  generally  to  be 
done  at  short  notice  at  the  court  of  Jerome. 

Sidonia  was  still  quite  sufficiently  an  heiress  for 
the  Chancellor  (he  knew  his  court)  to  be  quite  sure 


352  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

of  being  able  to  find  some  excellent  person  who 
would  take  her  thankfully  from  his  hands  without 
daring  to  request,  much  less  to  stipulate,  for  an 
exhibition  of  figures. 

***** 

There  was  a  Court-concert  the  next  night  at  the 
Royal  Palace,  and  it  was  in  the  music-room  that 
Sidonia  was,  by  command,  presented  to  Jerome. 

She  dropped  her  curtsey.  Here  was  a  King  for 
whose  royalty,  in  her  sturdy  patriotism  and  her 
inherited  race  tradition,  she  felt  neither  allegiance 
nor  respect.  As  she  drew  herself  up  from  the  per- 
functory obeisance,  she  looked  him  in  the  face  and 
met  the  well-remembered  glance,  with  its  hateful 
gleam  and  flicker.  Turning  aside  she  became  con- 
scious of  the  gaze  of  the  King's  Master  of  the  Horse, 
General  d'Albignac,  as  he  towered  over  his  dapper 
little  sovereign.  Steady  enough  this,  something  like 
the  glare  with  which  the  beast  of  prey  regards  his 
quarry.  The  girl's  heart  sank  with  a  double 
terror. 

"I  am  charmed,"  said  the  King,  "to  behold 
at  last  with  my  own  eyes  the  young  heiress  of  Wellens- 
hausen,  in  whose  lovely  person,  I  am  told,  is  vested 
so  much  of  my  territory." 

This  was  spoken  in  German,  with  a  pronounced 


The   Ways  of  Little  Courts  353 

Italian  accent.  Then  Jerome  slid  into  French  to  say 
caressingly : 

"Mademoiselle  de  W ellenshausen  is  welcome  at 
my  Court." 

Betty  von  Wellenshausen,  at  Sidonia's  side, 
stood  twittering,  awaiting  her  moment.  Jerome 
was  once  more  in  high  good  humour;  all  trace 
of  the  gloom  that  had  weighted  his  brow  through 
yesterday's  afternoon  was  gone.  Betty  felt  sure 
of  triumph.  Her  entrance  had  created  quite  a 
flutter  in  the  assembly.  Women  had  whispered 
together  behind  their  fans.  Men's  eyes  had  fol- 
lowed her  with  bold,  curious  looks.  Her  Bluebeard 
shadowed  her  with  a  fierce  anxiety  which  to-night 
Betty  accepted  cheerfully  as  a  further  tribute, 
confident  that  she  and  his  sovereign  could  elude 
it  when  the  critical  time  came. 

What,  therefore,  were  her  feelings  when  she 
found  Jerome's  eyes  glinting  past  her  —  ay,  past 
Betty  von  Wellenshausen  at  her  fairest  —  to  rest 
with  marked  interest  (if  ever  the  word  "rest"  could 
be  applied  to  Jerome's  eyes)  upon  Sidonia,  the 
gawky  child.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it, 
she  could  not  soothe  herself  with  the  thought  that 
pique  was  the  cause  of  his  neglect.  His  attention 
swept  by  her  with  no  deliberate  indifference;  she 

2A 


354  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

simply  did  not  exist  for  him,  his  interest  was  vividly 
enkindled  elsewhere.  In  the  blasting  disillusion  of 
the  experience,  the  Burgravine  turned  livid.  Through 
the  buzzing  in  her  ears  she  could  scarce  catch  Sido- 
nia's  reply  to  the  King's  gracious  words. 

The  child,  however,  was  speaking  in  clear, 
deliberate  tones,  and  what  she  was  saying  was 
sufficiently  remarkable  : 

"Your  Majesty  mistakes.  I  am  the  Countess 
Waldorff- Kielmansegg. " 

Outward  decorum  is  the  rule  even  at  the  most 
amateur  court,  yet  the  sensation  created  by  the 
announcement  Sidonia  could  feel  to  her  innermost 
nerve.  The  countenance  of  Jerome  became  as  sud- 
denly and  threateningly  overcast  as  that  of  a  spoilt 
urchin  thwarted.  He  flung  a  look  of  anger  at  his 
Chancellor.  The  veins  swelled  on  the  crimsoning 
forehead  of  General  d'Albignac. 

He  sje  %  %  % 

The  rumour  that  old  Wellenshausen  had  a  rich 
nibce  &  marier  had  spread  very  quickly  through  the 
Palace.  D'Albignac  remembered  her  quite  well; 
it  was  she  who  had  struck  him  over  the  eyes  with 
her  plaits  —  that  added  something  to  the  zest  with 
which  the  King's  Master  of  the  Horse  had  sought 
an  interview  that  morning  with  the  young  lady's 


The  Ways  of  Little  Courts  355 

guardian.  It  was  not  unsatisfactory  in  its  results. 
Ere  they  parted,  indeed,  the  two  thoroughly  under- 
stood each  other.  The  ex-chouan  was  hardly  a 
match,  perhaps,  for  a  Wellenshausen ;  but  then 
there  was  the  coming  scandal  of  the  annulment ! 
Her  fortune,  on  the  other  hand,  might  not  be  now 
what  it  had  been  on  her  father's  death,  but  it  was 
considerable.  And,  again,  times  were  bad.  The 
Burgrave  could  guarantee,  at  any  rate,  that  the 
broad  lands  were  intact.  One  must  make  up 
one's  mind  to  give  and  take  in  this  world;  and 
every  one,  from  King  downwards,  was  more  or  less 
in  debt  at  the  Court  of  Jerome  —  d'Albignac 
distinctly  more  than  less.  Besides,  a  pretty  wife 
was  always  a  good  speculation  at  Cassel.  And 
when  d'Albignac  saw  Jerome  fix  his  future  bride 
with  a  well-known  look,  he  knew  that  she  might 
prove  a  very  profitable  speculation  indeed.  A 
prolonged  course  of  " Pompadour ettes"  had  begun 
to  satiate  the  royal  palate;  here  was  a  wild,  high- 
born thing  that  carried  her  head  like  a  stag,  and 
looked  out  upon  them  all  with  fire  in  her  eyes. 
By  the  side  of  the  ogling,  mincing  bit  of  plump- 
ness that  the  Burgrave  had  provided  himself  with, 
with  all  her  stage  tricks  and  fireworks,  even  to  the 
chouan  renegade  (who  was  no  eclectic)  the  contrast 


356  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

was  grateful.  And  now  there  was  this  nonsense 
about  a  previous  marriage  to  spoil  all !  What  a 
pity  he  had  not  been  allowed  quietly  to  finish  off 
the  impertinent  interloper  that  night  in  the  forest ! 

*f*  *I»  *l*  *t*  *l* 

Betty's  voice  broke  shrilly  upon  the  brooding 
pause : 

"Your  Majesty,"  she  cried,  "has,  I  believe, 
already  received  information  of  the  true  position 
of  affairs.  The  marriage  was  no  marriage.  A 
quixotic  piece  of  nonsense,  half-hearted,  soon 
repented,  at  least  on  one  side.  The  deeds  of  annul- 
ment are  actually  drawn  up.  Count  Kielmansegg's 
signature  —  or  I  am  very  much  mistaken  —  will  be 
promptly  affixed  now,  and  it  is  not  to  be  imagined, 
as  your  Majesty  will  well  believe,  that  my  husband's 
niece  will  then  withhold  hers.  It  would  be  against 
all  feminine  delicacy,  all  proper  pride." 

She  shot  a  look  of  fury  at  her  niece;  then  she 
nudged  the  Burgrave,  who  instantly  reasseverated 
in  his  deep  bass: 

"The  deed  of  annulment  is  drawn  up,  sire." 

Jerome's  good  humour  returned.  He  rubbed  his 
hands.  In  spite  of  all  his  royal  assumption,  much 
of  the  exuberant  gesture  of  the  Corsican  had  stuck 
to  him,  to  the  distaste  of  his  stolid  subjects. 


The  Ways  of  Little  Courts  357 

"//  faut  oiler  vite,  vile,  alors.  We  must  make 
haste,"  he  averred. 

To  make  haste  and  enjoy  was,  indeed,  the  rule 
of  his  existence.  Now,  a  Lent  of  unexampled 
rigour  seemed  inevitably  drawing  near  him,  and 
all  the  more  vertiginous  was  his  carnival.  So 
vertiginous  indeed,  that,  willingly  blind  though 
she  was,  the  Queen,  true  German  daughter  of 
Wiirtemberg,  had  withdrawn  from  the  whirl,  giddy 
and  panting,  to  take  refuge  at  Napoleonshohe  till 
such  time  as  her  spouse  would  come  to  sober  sense 
again. 

Jerome  considered  the  girl  a  moment  longer 
in  silence.  That  she  should  flush  and  pale  beneath 
his  glance,  look  anger  at  him  from  her  deep  eyes 
and  then  avert  her  head  with  an  insulted  turn  of 
the  neck,  all  added  so  much  fuel  to  his  easily  kindled 
flame.  He  wished  to  go  quick,  quick;  but  if  she 
gave  him  a  bit  of  a  chase,  so  much  the  better.  And 
now  he  found  a  smile  for  Betty,  and  a  gracious 
word,  ere  he  passed  on,  taking  the  Burgrave  by 
the  arm.  Betty  might  do  very  well  for  an  idle  hour, 
by-and-by,  perhaps;  but,  heavens,  how  many 
Betties  had  he  not  known ! 

The  Burgravine's  self-esteem  was  at  once  too 
profound  and  too  sensitive  not  to  realize  the  com- 


358  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

pleteness  of  her  failure.  But  vanity  has  its  heroines. 
None  could  have  guessed,  as  she  paired  off  merrily 
with  d'Albignac,  the  extent  of  her  mortification. 
Yet  it  was  something  very  little  short  of  torture 
that  she  was  enduring  as  she  smiled  and  coquetted 
and  fanned  herself,  and  babbled  her  pretty  babble. 


What  she  'was  saying  u<as  sufficiently  remarkable  : 
"  Your  Majesty  mistakes.     I  am  the   Countess    Waldorff-Kielinan- 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE   SONG   OF  THE   WOODS 


t  ein  $lingen  unb  £)rbl)nen 
23on  ^3au!en  unb  ©djatntei'n 
jDajttriScfyen  edjtudjjen  unb  Stbfjnen 
2)te  guten  (Sngelein." 

HEINE. 

SIDONIA  slipped  away  alone  to  a  shadowed 
window-  recess.  Under  the  insult  of  her  aunt's 
words,  the  insult  of  Jerome's  gaze,  pain  and  anger 
had  so  burned  within  her  as  to  exclude  all  other 
feelings.  But  in  the  "  solitude  of  the  crowd," 
her  brain  gradually  cleared;  and,  as  she  reviewed 
the  situation,  a  new  feeling,  a  dread  unnamed  but 
overwhelming,  began  to  take  possession  of  her. 
With  wits  naturally  alert,  and  to-night  abnormally 
stimulated,  she  began  to  notice  strange  things 
about  her.  She  was  in  danger  —  in  danger  of 
what,  she  knew  not,  but  something  horrible,  un- 
speakable. The  looks  the  King  and  d'Albignac 
had  cast  upon  her,  the  glance  of  intelligence  they 
had  then  exchanged,  her  uncle's  obsequious  haste 
359 


360  "7f  Youth  but  Knew!" 

to  disclaim  her  marriage,  and  her  aunt's  public 
affront  to  her,  were  as  many  lightning  flashes  that 
showed  the  precipice  yawning  at  her  feet.  Not 
a  friend  had  she  in  the  world  to  whom  she  could 
turn,  save  the  man  who  did  not  love  her,  and  a 
poor,  wandering  musician,  now  probably  far  away 
on  some  Thuringian  road,  playing  gay  tunes  to  the 
rhythm  of  his  own  incurable  melancholy. 

Unavowed,  even  to  her  own  heart,  these  two 
days  the  thought  had  haunted  her  that  perhaps 
—  nay,  doubtless  —  Steven  would  take  the  oppor- 
tunity of  meeting  her,  which  the  royal  function 
afforded  him  this  night.  She  knew  enough  of 
the  ways  of  Jerome's  court  already  to  be  aware 
that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  his  being  present 
at  the  palace  concert  should  he  wish  it.  The  Up- 
start loved  to  parade  his  magnificence  before 
strangers ;  and  to  a  Waldorff-Kielmansegg  the  palace 
doors  would  be  open  a  double  battants. 

But,  search  the  throng  as  she  might,  there  was 
no  sign  of  the  young  disdainful  head.  The  vision 
of  it,  pale  and  passionate,  had  lived  in  her  memory 
even  as  she  had  seen  it  at  their  parting.  He  would 
have  towered  above  these  squat  Westphalians, 
these  popinjays  of  Frenchmen  and  Corsicans;  his 
presence  would  have  shone  out  among  them.  Nay, 


The  Song  of  the   Woods  361 

she  would  have  marked  his  glance  upon  her  among 
a  thousand  starers.  She  knew  well,  poor  Sidonia, 
that  she  would  have  felt  it  in  every  leaping  pulse ! 
Her  heart  turned  faint :  had  he  cared,  he  would  have 
come.  Had  he  cared  even  only  for  her  honour,  ac- 
cording to  those  fine  words  of  his  yesterday,  he  must 
have  been  here  to  watch,  to  guard,  his  wife.  She 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  eyeballs,  for  the 
brilliancy  of  the  lights  became  unbearable.  And 
as  she  stood  between  the  parted  curtains  in  the 
recess,  the  orchestra,  half  hidden  behind  a  bank 
of  flowers,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  struck  up  a 
gay  French  air  which  added  to  her  sense  of 
misery. 

Her  uncle's  words,  "the  annulment  deed  is 
already  drawn  out,"  seemed  to  jig  in  her  brain 
in  time  to  the  measure.  It  was  almost  the  same 
phrase  that  she  herself  had  flung  at  Steven  — 
but  now  it  bore  a  sound  of  cruel  reality  quite  novel 
to  her.  And  when  a  couple  of  horns  took  up  the 
fiddles'  theme,  they  seemed  to  be  blaring  to  the 
world  her  unutterable  shame:  "A  quixotic  piece 
of  nonsense,  half-hearted,  soon  repented  ...  at 
least,  on  one  side.  .  .  .  Count  Kielmansegg's 
signature  will  be  quickly  affixed.  .  .  ." 

How  was  it  possible  for  any  one  to  be  so  aban- 


362  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

doned,  so  helpless?  Even  the  small  furry  things 
of  the  forest  at  home  had  their  holes  to  which  they 
could  run  and  hide  when  they  were  hurt.  .  .  .  The 
forest  at  home !  With  what  longing  did  her  soul 
yearn  to  the  thought  of  the  green  shelter,  the  pine- 
alleys  with  their  long  shadows  cutting  the  yellow 
glades;  of  the  great,  sombre  thickets,  where  not 
the  most  practised  huntsman  of  the  Remer  could 
have  tracked  a  startled  hind.  .  .  .  Dawn  in  the 
woods,  with  pipe  of  birds  waking  up  ...  violets, 
blinking  dew  in  the  moss,  and  clean,  tart  breezes 
blowing  free.  .  .  .  Eventide  in  the  forest:  the 
mild  sun  setting  at  the  end  of  the  valley,  through 
the  clearings,  and  the  thrush  chanting  his  last 
anthem  on  the  topmost  bough  of  the  stone  pine. 
.  .  .  The  scent  of  the  wood-smoke  from  the  forest 
house,  where  Forest-Mother  Friedel  was  preparing 
supper  for  her  hungry  lads,  where  all  was  so  whole- 
some, so  honest,  so  homelike ;  where  at  this  moment 
—  who  knows  ?  —  Geiger-Hans  might  be  seated  in 
the  ingleglow,  his  music,  lilt  of  joy  and  sorrow 
mingled,  of  humour  and  tenderness,  floating  out 
through  the  open  door  into  the  forest-aisle.  .  .  . 
Sidonia's  thoughts  began  to  wander  from  her  own 
sorrow.  She  saw  the  sunrise  in  the  forest,  she  felt 
the  evening  peace. 


The  Song  of  the    Woods  363 

All  at  once,  in  her  lonely  corner,  she  started 
and  opened  her  eyes ;  she  brushed  her  hands  across 
her  wet  lips.  She  was  dreaming,  surely !  And  yet 
she  could  swear  that  the  actual  thrill  of  the  vaga- 
bond's violin  was  in  the  air,  that  its  piercing  sweet- 
ness and  incomparable  depth  of  sound  were  ringing 
in  her  ears. 

"A lions  voir  danser  la  grande  Jeanne.  .  .  ." 
The  orchestra  was  braying  the  trivial  French  tune 
no  more.  The  jigging  and  twiddling  of  fiddles, 
the  mock  laughter  of  hautboys,  the  infectious 
rhythm  of  flute  and  drum,  had  all  given  place  to  a 
stealing  melody,  infinitely  apart :  —  yes,  even  that 
mountain  song  which  had  been  known  between  her 
and  the  wanderer  as  "Sidonia's  air"!  Surely  if 
she  were  not  dreaming,  then  she  was  mad! 

She  stood,  holding  her  breath.  The  strain 
went  on.  Above  those  clamours  of  laughter  and 
voices,  yes,  it  was  true  .  .  .  her  song,  Sidonia's 
air,  was  calling  her,  unmistakable,  insistent,  with 
all  the  urgency  of  a  whispered  message. 

Scarcely  aware  of  what  she  was  doing,  she  left 
her  hiding-place  and  went  swiftly  through  the 
indifferent  throng  towards  the  call.  With  one 
exception  the  men  of  the  orchestra  had  left  their 
platform:  behind  a  high  group  of  palms,  a  soli- 


364  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

tary  musician  plied  his  bow  softly,  secretly,  as  if 
rehearsing  to  himself. 

Sidonia  pushed  some  branches  apart.  The  player 
looked  up.  Their  eyes  met.  Then  she  forgot  to 
be  astonished.  She  thought  she  had  known  it  all 
along.  He  had  come  to  save  her.  True  friend ! 

"I  knew  it  was  you,"  she  said.  She  laughed 
at  him  through  the  green  palm- stems,  her  eyes 
sparkled.  How  could  she  ever  have  thought 
Geiger-Hans  would  fail  her?  She  had  need  of 
him,  and  of  course  he  had  come! 

But  Geiger-Hans  did  not  smile  back.  His  face 
—  so  dark  under  powdered  hair,  so  odd  over  the 
mulberry  uniform,  bechained  and  besilvered,  of 
Jerome's  Court  Orchestra  —  was  very  grave. 

"Little  Madam  Sidonia,"  he  said,  "what  are 
you  doing  here?"  He  spoke  sadly;  and  under 
his  unconscious  fingers  his  violin  gave  a  sad  ac- 
companiment to  the  words. 

Sidonia  looked  at  him  with  her  innocent  gaze. 
She  was  hurt  that  he  should  find  fault  with  her  — 
the  Geiger-Onkel  who  hitherto  had  always  thought 
all  she  did  perfect !  Yet  she  was  pleased  that  he 
should  dub  her  "madam"  instead  of  the  whilom 
"mamzell." 

"Do  you  know  what  sort  of  a  place  this  is?" 


The  Song  of  the   Woods  365 

pursued  the  fiddler,  with  ever-increasing  severity. 
"  Do  you  know  with  what  people  you  are  surrounded  ? 
Have  you  not  heard  the  common  saying,  that  if 
it  be  doubtful  whether  an  honest  woman  —  save 
the  unhappy  Queen  —  ever  crossed  these  palace 
doors,  to  a  certainty  no  honest  woman  ever  went 
forth  from  them?  Why  are  you  not  with  your 
husband?  —  with  your  husband,"  he  repeated 
sharply. 

Sidonia,  who  had  hung  her  head,  ashamed  — 
for  in  truth  she  felt  the  evil  about  her  in  every 
fibre  —  reared  it  on  the  last  words. 

"Geiger-Onkel,"  she  cried,  "I  have  no  husband, 
and  you  know  it.  That  is  past  and  done  with." 
Then  her  heart  began  to  beat  very  fast  and  the 
smarting  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  "From  what 
motives  I  was  married,  I  know  not;  but  that  it 
was  all  a  cheat,  I  do  know.  He  does  not  want  me. 
He  never  cared  for  me.  First  it  was  pity,  perhaps, 
I  think;  now  it  is  pride  with  him.  On  such  terms 
I  will  be  no  man's  wife.  I  will  have  none  of  it  — 
rather  death !" 

"Oh,  death!"  said  the  fiddler,  and  struck  his 
strings,  "death  is  the  least  of  evils.  Nay,  the 
release  of  a  clean,  proud  soul  .  .  .  that  is  joy. 
The  worst  end  of  life  is  not  death.  Beware,  little 


366  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

madam!"  He  had  another  change  of  tone:  never 
had  Sidonia  been  rated  with  such  sternness.  "Why, 
what  a  child  you  are !  Yet  none  so  childish  but 
that  you  know  full  well  this  is  no  child's  mischief, 
but  woman's  danger !  With  what  anxiety  am  I 
here  to  save  you  from  yourself ;  at  what  trouble ! 
.  .  .  Only  that  the  rats  are  flying  already  from 
the  falling  house;  only  that  I  happened  to  meet 
the  second  violin  of  Jerome's  orchestra,  an  acquaint- 
ance of  old  —  a  musical  rat  in  full  scuttle  !  —  I 
might  still  be  racking  my  brains  for  means  to  come 
near  you !  Here  am  I  this  hour,  wearing  the  livery 
of  the  Upstart,  not  knowing  if  I  shall  be  given  the 
necessary  minute  for  speech.  The  prisons  are 
stuffed  full  to-night,  and  Jerome  always  was  afraid 
of  me.  Let  but  his  eye,  or  that  of  his  spies,  turn 
this  way  and  recognize  me,  and  it  is  to  the  lock-up 
with  Geiger-Hans !  Oh,  then,  what  of  Madam 
Sidonia  ?  Home  to  your  husband  !  Home,  I  say ! 
You  know  where  to  find  him.  You  toss  your  head 
at  me  ?  It  was  through  pride  the  angel  fell  —  and 
he  was  Star  of  the  Morning!" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Sidonia. 

"Nay,"  said  Geiger-Hans;  "you  know  too 
much  already.  Fie,  what  a  dance  will  there  be 
here  before  the  house  falls !  Even  now  Jerome 


The  Song  of  the   Woods  367 

is  plotting  his  last  gratification.  Did  not  his  eye 
fall  upon  you?  Your  husband's  name,  his  sacred 
Austrian  nationality  —  that  is  your  only  safeguard. 
And  that  name  you  are  not  to  keep  long.  You  are 
to  become  Madame  d'Albignac." 

"D'Albignac!"  cried  Sidonia.  "I  — Madame 
d'Albignac?  You  are  mad,  Geiger-Onkel!" 

But,  even  as  she  spoke,  she  felt  a  cold  sweat  upon 
her. 

"And  d'Albignac  will  not  be  for  a  long  engage- 
ment," pursued  the  fiddler,  relentlessly.  "The 
puppet  King  has  very  little  time  left,  as  his  lieutenant 
knows,  and  he,  d'Albignac,  will  be  but  too  eager  to 
save  something  out  of  the  ruins  —  and,  besides, 
they  are  amicably  agreed  already." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Sidonia  again.  She 
went  white,  then  red,  trembled,  and  caught  at  the 
prickly  stem  of  the  palm. 

"Take  me  away  with  you,"  she  broke  out  of  a 
sudden,  piteously.  "Save  me!" 

"I  cannot  save  you,"  answered  the  wanderer. 
His  voice  was  harsh,  yet  it  faltered.  "No  one 
can  save  you  but  your  husband.  Go  home  to 
him." 

Then  he  began  to  tune  his  fiddle  with  fury,  for 
his  fellow- players  were  straggling  back.  Some  of 


368  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

them  looked  curiously  at  the  fine  lady  who  was 
speaking  to  their  unknown  comrade  so  familiarly. 
Sidonia  turned.  Many  of  the  great  company  were 
looking  at  her,  too.  Right  across  the  room  she  saw 
Jerome  and  his  equerry  talking  together;  and,  as 
they  talked,  their  eyes  (or  so  she  fancied)  ever  and 
anon  sought  her. 

Panic  seized  her.  But,  even  in  panic,  Sidonia 
was  loyal.  She  must  not  speak  again  to  Geiger- 
Hans,  lest  she  bring  him  into  deeper  danger.  Geiger- 
Hans  her  friend,  the  wild  wanderer,  in  prison!  In 
prison  for  her!  That  would  be  terrible. 

She  wheeled  round;  and  then,  like  a  hunted 
thing,  pushed  her  way  blindly  through  the  throng, 
determined  to  retire  to  the  Burgravine's  apartment. 
People  nudged  each  other  as  she  passed.  At  the 
door,  an  old  lady,  with  white  hair  and  a  soft,  pink- 
and- white  face,  detained  her  by  the  skirt: 

"Who  are  you,  my  dear,  and  whither  so  fast?" 

"Oh,  please,"  panted  the  girl,  "let  me  go !  I  am 
Sidonia  of  Kielmansegg."  Even  in  her  agitation 
she  did  not  forget  the  name  that  was  her  shield. 
"I  must  go  back  to  my  aunt,  the  Burgravine  of 
Wellenshausen. " 

The  old  lady  nodded.  "That  is  all  right,"  she 
said.  "But  you  seem  frightened,  child.  There  is 


The  Song  of  the   Woods  369 

nothing  to  be  frightened  at.  And  if  you  want  any 
advice,  my  dear,  or  help,  you  have  only  to  ask  for 
Madame  la  Grande  Marechale  de  la  Cour  —  that  is 
myself.  I  am  very  fond  of  girls." 

Her  voice  was  purring,  her  smile  was  comfortable. 
As  Sidonia  moved  away,  she  felt  vaguely  reassured. 
If  her  own  kindred  failed  her,  there  might  yet  be 
salvation  —  salvation  other  than  the  inadmissible 
humiliation  of  that  return  to  the  man  she  loved  but 
who  did  not  love  her  ...  all  that  Geiger-Hans 
(so  suddenly,  unaccountably  unkind !)  would  devise 
for  her. 

In  the  Chancellor's  apartment  she  found  bustle 
and  confusion.  A  footman  staggered  past  her, 
bringing  in  trunks.  A  couple  of  the  new  Cassel 
maids  were  running  to  and  fro  with  folded  packets 
of  lace  and  silk. 

For  a  second  Sidonia  stared  amazed;  then  her 
heart  leaped  with  sudden  joy.  These  preparations 
for  departure  could  have  but  one  significance:  the 
Chancellor  had  got  wind  of  the  infamous  plot  against 
his  niece,  ...  by  his  orders  Betty  was  already  pre- 
paring to  take  her  into  safety.  Ah,  how  could  she 
have  doubted  her  kinsman's  sense  of  family  honour  ? 
Had  not  even  his  desperate  intention,  in  the  matter 
of  the  oubliette,  shown  him  a  true  Wellenshausen  ? 


3/0  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

She  had  ceased  to  blame  him  since  she  had  under- 
stood :  rather  slay  than  be  dishonoured !  Cassel 
was  no  place  for  honest  women;  in  his  decision  to 
keep  his  wife  away  from  it,  he  had  been  right,  a 
thousand  times!  And  who,  better  than  Sidonia, 
knew  how  his  hand  had  been  forced  before  he  con- 
sented to  bring  them  thither?  But,  in  this  emer- 
gency, he  would  be  master  once  more  —  and  she 
was  safe. 

She  burst  into  the  room :  yes,  there  was  her  aunt, 
already  engaged  in  donning  a  travelling  garb,  and 
ever  and  anon  clapping  jewels  into  their  cases 
with  fervid  haste.  Betty  looked  up  and  her  olive 
face  grew  thunder-dark  as  she  recognized  her 
niece. 

"Geiger-Hans  has  told  me  all!"  cried  the- girl 
from  the  door.  "Did  you  look  for  me?  How 
horrible  it  all  is.  But  I  shall  be  ready  in  a  minute ! 
Where  are  we  going?" 

The  Burgravine  was  silent  for  a  second,  fixing 
her  with  cold  eyes.  Then  she  spoke,  with  an  acid 
composure : 

"7  am  going  back  to  Austria.  I  have  done  with 
Westphalia  and  all  that  belongs  to  it.  I  do  not 
know  what  your  plans  may  be,  but  they  concern  me 
no  longer." 


The  Song  of  the   Woods  371 

She  closed  the  case  she  held  in  her  hand ;  the  snap 
seemed  to  give  final  emphasis  to  her  words.  Sidonia 
stood,  aghast. 

"I  have  done  with  your  Westphalia,  my  love," 
pursued  the  Burgravine:  "done  with  your  uncle, 
my  Bluebeard,  en  •premier  lieu,  and  with  Jerome, 
that  plebeian,  that  upstart!" 

Intense  was  the  scorn  with  which  she  spoke  the 
words. 

Apart  from  this,  the  irredeemable  wound  that 
her  vanity  had  received  to-night  from  the  "little 
Corsican,"  Betty  had  another  reason  for  her  sud- 
den determination.  Flighty  she  might  be,  but  she 
was  a  woman  of  business  instincts  where  her  self- 
esteem  was  concerned.  She  had  met  a  countryman 
of  hers  at  the  concert,  an  elderly  diplomat,  a  man 
of  standing.  He  had  breathed  certain  information 
into  her  little  ear.  .  .  .  He  had  received  a  courier. 
Napoleon  had  been  finally  vanquished  at  Leipzig. 
The  news  had  not  yet  reached  Jerome,  but  it  spelt 
"the  End"  this  time!  Himself  intended  to  take 
the  high-road,  sans  tambour  ni  trompette,  the  very 
next  morning.  He  was  getting  on  in  years,  and  he 
would  prefer  not  to  be  caught  in  the  dtbandade. 
And,  as  he  had  parted  from  her,  he  had  pressed  her 
hand,  and  discreetly  trusted  that  she  might  soon  be 


372  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

paying  "her  relatives  in  Vienna  a  visit,  and  that  they 
might  meet  again  there. 

The  obvious  hint  had  not  been  wasted.  Excel- 
lent M.  de  Puffendorff  —  he  would  be  toiling  his 
elderly,  quiet  way  homewards  by  the  next  sunshine. 
What  was  tb  keep  Betty  from  starting  that  very 
night?  The  Burgrave  had  put  it  out  of  his  own 
power  to  resent  anything  she  did.  And,  whatever 
should  betide  between  them,  she  was  sure  of  a 
comfortable  pension.  To  leave  at  once  was  certainly 
her  best  course,  since  this  ludicrous  Cassel  had 
nothing  to  offer  her  but  the  discomfort  of  a  revolu- 
tion pour  rire.  To  be  involved  in  the  stampede  of 
the  Westphalian  court  would  for  ever  cover  her  with 
ridicule.  She  shuddered  as  she  thought  of  her  escape 
from  the  unpardonable  absurdity,  from  the  madness 
she  had  actually  contemplated  —  a  liaison  with  M. 
Jerome  Buonaparte ! 

As  for  Wellenshausen,  the  horses  were  not  foaled 
(she  swore)  that  would  take  her  back  to  that  prison. 
It  was  hey  for  Vienna  this  time,  and  in  earnest ! 

She  laughed  out  loud  now,  as  her  eye  rested 
upon  Sidonia's  bewildered  face.  Here,  in  sooth, 
was  Fate  avenging  her  with  unexpected  complete- 
ness. 

"Fortunately,  I  have  my  own  people  to  go  to," 


she  remarked  airily.  "You  will,  I  think,  see  pretty 
things  before  long  in  your  Cassel.  But,  there,  you 
have  a  feeling  heart,  my  dear.  You  can  wipe  your 
little  monarch's  tears  first,  and  make  up  to  M« 
d'Albignac  for  the  loss  of  his  pension  afterwards. 
C'est  un  beau  role,  and  you  have  your  uncle's  bless^ 
ing  upon  it." 

D'Albignac  again !  An  odious,  open  threat. 
Yet,  though  it  inspired  horror,  Sidonia  scarcely 
felt  fear  of  its  execution.  No  one  could  force  her 
into  such  a  marriage.  But  the  other  allusion, 
because  of  its  very  mystery,  brought  the  former 
anguished  sense  of  approaching  evil  upon  the 
girl;  a  dread  of  something  unspeakable,  and  so 
secret  that  she  knew  not  where  it  might  lurk  for  her, 
or  at  what  moment  it  might  seize  her. 

"You  are  a  wicked  woman,"  she  said,  dropping 
her  words  slowly. 

Betty  laughed.  In  the  forcing-house  atmosphere 
of  Jerome's  mock  Versailles,  it  had  not  required 
long  for  the  flowers  of  Betty's  nature  to  develop  in 
strange  luxuriance. 

"Ecoutez,  ma  chere,"  said  she,  brazen,  "the  only 
act  of  virtue  I  ever  perpetrated  (and,  by  the  way, 
you  were  my  instrument  in  it)  I  have  regretted 
ever  since.  Bah !  the  oubliette  would  have  opened 


374  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

its  old  jaws  in  vain,  for  Kielmansegg  and  I  would 
have  been  far  away,  on  the  wings  of  love,  before 
my  amiable  husband  had  had  time  to  set  the  ancient 
machinery  in  motion.  Of  course  you  stood  ha- 
ranguing each  other,  for  poor  Steven  could  not 
believe  that  I  meant  to  fail  him.  Anyhow,"  pur- 
sued the  speaker,  with  her  inimitable  logic,  "there 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  have  been  killed  any  more 
than  you.  I  suppose  Steven  could  have  nursed  me 
in  his  arms  all  night  as  safely  as  he  did  you.  (Poor 
boy,  it  might  have  made  the  time  seem  shorter  to 
him.)  So  much  for  virtue.  .  .  .  How  you  stare, 
my  love !  It  is  one  comfort  that  to  repent  of  being 
good  is  so  much  easier  than  to  repent  of  being 
wicked  —  and  so  much  more  successful,  as  a  rule ! 
My  journey  back  to  Vienna  has  only  been  post- 
poned, you  see." 

Countess  Kielmansegg  stood  stonily.  The  Bur- 
gravine,  running  from  place  to  place  like  a  mouse, 
halted  now  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Their 
eyes  met,  and  their  thoughts  flashed  at  each  other. 

"And  do  you  go  alone?"  asked  Sidonia. 

In  her  own  ears  her  voice  sounded  strange;  her 
heart  was  gripped  as  by  iron  fingers.  Oh,  if  Betty 
would  only  not  laugh  like  that ! 

The  Burgravine  suddenly  ceased  laughing.    An 


The  Song  of  the    Woods  375 

idea  had  struck  her.  Why  should  she  go  alone, 
indeed,  if  there  was  a  chance  of  the  excellent  com- 
pany of  a  well-favoured,  rich,  and  noble  youth? 
What  a  magnificent  culmination  to  her  dull  career 
as  Burgravine  von  Wellenshausen !  And  what  a 
double  vengeance !  It  seemed  as  if  it  must  have 
been  predestined,  so  perfect  was  it.  It  was  worth 
trying  for ;  and,  at  any  rate,  the  pleasure  of  torment- 
ing Sidonia  was  worth  a  fib  or  two.  Betty  laughed 
again. 

"Who  knows?"  she  answered.  "I  may  per- 
chance find  an  escort.  Count  Waldorff-Kielman- 
segg  will  have  signed  by  now  a  certain  precious 
document  of  yours,  which  I  hear  they  bring  him 
to-night.  Then  it  will  be  'Hop-lay  postilion!' 
with  him  also,  I  suppose.  —  He  is  my  cousin," 
giggled  pretty  Betty.  "So,  if  I  accept  his  protec- 
tion, it  will  be  perfectly  right  and  proper." 

Sidonia  gave  a  quiver  like  a  startled  hind.  Then 
she  turned  and  fled,  even  as  flies  the  hind  with  the 
hunt  on  her  traces,  and  Betty's  laugh  pursued  her 
like  to  the  note  of  the  horn. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A  TREACHEROUS  HAVEN 

"  While  some,  whose  souls  the  old  serpent  long  had  drawn 
Down  .  .  ,  hissed  each  at  other's  ear 
What  shall  not  be  recorded —  women  they, 
Women,  or  what  had  been  those  gracious  things.  .  .  ." 
(  Geraint  and  Enid) . 

SHE  ran  headlong  down  the  passage,  and  struck 
against  the  burly  figure  of  the  Burgrave  himself. 
The  omen  of  trunks  had  not  yet  met  him.  He 
was  in  high  good  humour.  Indeed,  he  was  of 
those  that  have  no  scent  for  omens.  His  kinglet, 
but  now,  had  promised  him,  for  no  special  reason 
that  appeared  yet,  territorial  honour  and  rich 
regard,  and  he  had  no  doubt  of  the  royal  power. 

"Whither  so  fast,  my  maid?"  he  inquired, 
holding  her  not  unkindly. 

She  clung  to  him  with  passion :  "  O,  Uncle  Ludo, 
take  me  away  from  this  place!  Take  me  away 
to-night,  this  hour,  at  once !  Let  us  go  back  to 
the  dear  old  Burg!" 

"Why,  what  is  this?"  He  pushed  her  from 
him,  good-humoured,  bantering,  fuddled  with  the 
royal  Sillery.  His  sovereign  and  he  had  pledged 
376 


A    Treacherous  Haven  377 

a  bumper  to  the  heiress  of  Wellenshausen's  altered 
prospects.  "Na,  na,"  said  the  Burgrave,  and 
wagged  his  head  jocosely.  "Somebody  would  not 
be  in  such  a  hurry  to  run  away  if  somebody  knew 
what  her  old  uncle  had  planned  for  her.  Ha,  my 
dear,  that  hasty  marriage  was  never  more  to  my 
liking  than  to  yours;  and  now  we  have  a  new  hus- 
band for  you.  Aye,  and  a  place  at  court!  Hey, 
little  Sidonia!  Such  a  fine  husband,  such  a  fine 
position !" 

The  girl  raised  her  eyes  and  desperately  scanned 
his  empurpled  countenance.  Again  the  Burgrave 
archly  shook  his  head,  and  laughter  rumbled  in 
his  huge  body.  —  Aye,  aye,  it  was  the  way  of  women 
to  feign  coyness,  but  men  knew  what  was  good  for 
them.  One  must  humour  them  from  time  to  time, 
but  never  yield.  —  She  read  something  implacable 
in  the  stupidity  of  his  eye.  She  thought  of  the  old 
wild  boars  in  the  forest:  as  well  might  she  try  to 
appeal  to  one  of  those ! 

He  clutched  her  hands  in  his  hot  grasp;  a  faint- 
ness  came  over  her. 

"Aunt  Betty  is  packing,"  she  cried  wildly,  in- 
spired by  woman's  wit.  "Don't  you  know?  .  .  . 
She  is  going  back  to  Austria." 

"What?"  roared  the  Burgrave.    He  released  her 


3/8  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

and  cantered  sidelong  down  the  passage  to  Betty's 
room. 

It  was  blow  upon  blow.  Sidonia  stood,  trying 
to  collect  her  scattered  thoughts.  Suddenly  Eliza 
came  upon  her,  tripping  from  the  outer  door  upon 
gay  sandalled  foot.  She  flung  her  shawl  from  her 
head  at  sight  of  Sidonia,  and  her  eyes  danced  under 
dishevelled  curls. 

"We  are  going  to  Vienna,  mademoiselle,"  she 
announced  breathlessly,  "and  no  later  than  to- 
night. I  have  just  ordered  the  post-chaise  for 
madame.  One  cannot  trust  that  Kurtz.  It  is  a 
great  secret.  Will  not  mademoiselle  come  with  us  ? 
One  is  so  happy  at  Vienna !  And  mademoiselle 
will  probably  meet  the  young  count  quite  easily 
there  —  or  somebody  else  just  as  handsome,"  added 
Eliza.  Her  eyes  rollicked. 

Sidonia  looked  at  the  gleeful,  unscrupulous, 
excited  face  and  recoiled.  Wine  flowed  as  freely 
in  the  menials'  hall,  on  fe'te  nights,  at  the  Palace 
of  Bellevue  as  in  the  salons.  And  Eliza  was  one 
who  would  profit  of  the  occasion.  But  now  the 
Burgrave's  voice  rose  from  the  inner  room  with 
sudden  clangour.  The  maid,  suddenly  sobered, 
caught  Sidonia's  wrist. 

"Ah,  del"  she  cried,  "what  is  passing  within 


A    Treacherous  Haven  379 

there?  And  we,  who  thought  monsieur  safe  away, 
in  attendance  of  the  King!  .  .  .  Why,  made- 
moiselle, how  white  you  a're,  and  how  you  tremble  !" 
Immoral  she  might  be,  like  her  mistress ;  but,  unlike 
her,  she  was  kind.  "Ah,  he  was  not  there,  then, 
to-night,"  she  proceeded  with  rapid  intuition. 
"Listen,  Mademoiselle  Sidonia,  since  he  won't 
come,  if  I  were  you  I  should  just  go  to  him.  .  .  . 
And  quick,  quick,  before  he  signs.  He  can't  turn 
you  away  .  .  .  even  if  he  wanted  it.  Saprisii, 
but  you  are  still  his  wife." 

A  fresh  outburst  of  wrangling  voices  in  Betty's 
rooms  here  drew  her  curiosity  in  another  direction. 

"I  must  go  and  be  with  poor  madame,"  she 
exclaimed ;  the  twinkle  in  her  eye,  over  the  delight 
of  witnessing  the  marital  scene,  contrasted  oddly 
with  the  pious  devotion  of  her  tone. 

"  Tu  verras  que  cela  va  rater  encore  cette  jois"  she 
was  telling  herself  philosophically,  as  she  hurried 
away. 

"If  you  want  help,"  had  said  the  soft- voiced 
old  lady,  "ask  for  la  Grande  Marechale  de  la  Cour." 
If  ever  a  poor  daughter  of  Eve  wanted  help,  it  was 
surely  Sidonia,  standing  between  the  Scylla  of 
nameless  evil  and  the  Charybdis  of  dire  humiliation. 


380  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

A  refuge  for  the  night,  the  loan  of  a  small  sum, 
to  enable  her  to  gain  the  Forest  House  —  for 
Sidonia  was  still  kept  like  a  child  and  had  no  purse 
of  her  own  —  surely,  it  was  small  assistance  that 
she  required.  She  paused  but  to  catch  up  a  travel- 
ling cloak  in  her  room;  then,  seeking  the  outer 
corridor  again,  bade  the  first  valet  on  her  way 
guide  her  to  the  apartment  of  Madame  la  Grande 
Mare'chale.  She  would  wait,  she  planned,  for  the 
great  lady's  return  from  festivity.  There  must  be 
safety  where  such  gentle  old  age  presided ;  and  good 
counsel;  perchance  even  an  escort,  forthcoming  on 
the  morrow  for  her  journey  back  to  the  Thuringian 
forest. 

The  Marechale's  apartments  were  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  Sidonia  thought  fortune  favoured  her 
when  the  porter  informed  her  that  "Her  Excel- 
lency" herself  had  that  instant  entered.  Still  more 
at  ease  felt  she  when  the  pretty  old  lady  received 
her  with  open  arms  and  cooing  words  of  wel- 
come : 

11  Ma  belle  enfant,  this  is  well!  I  had  presenti- 
ments. I  expected  you.  That  great  bear  of  a 
Chancellor,  your  uncle,  and  the  little  minx  of  a 
wife  he  has  .  .  .  (linnet-head,  wasp-temper,  ferret- 
heart —  I  know  the  kind!  One  look  at  her,  ma 


A   Treacherous  Haven  381 

chere,  it  was  enough) :  that  was  no  place  for  you. 
Nay,  you  wanted  a  friend,  and  it  is  well  you  came 
to  me,  very  well."  She  nodded;  and  the  bird-of- 
paradise  plume  in  her  gauzy  turban  quivered  over 
her  white  curls. 

Sidonia  had  to  struggle  with  rising  tears;  but 
they  were  tears  of  gratitude,  of  relief.  Madame 
la  Mardchale  patted  her  on  the  shoulder,  stooped  to 
embrace  her ;  there  was  about  her  a  delicate  atmos- 
phere of  Parma  powder  and  amber-scented  laces. 

"It  is  good,  my  child,"  she  murmured,  "to  have 
a  friend  at  court  —  some  one  who  knows  the  ways 
of  it.  Ma  petite,  you  and  I,  we'll  do  great  things 
together !  Nay,  but  we  will  talk  no  more  now. 
A  little  supper  would  not  come  amiss.  Hey,  what 
have  you  eaten  to-day?" 

She  rang  a  silver  bell,  and  a  smart  soubrette 
appeared,  who  stared  with  bold,  black  eyes  at  the 
visitor. 

"Bettine,  my  good  girl,"  said  the  suave  lady, 
"take  .  .  .  mademoiselle  into  my  chamber,  and 
arrange  me  her  coiffure  before  supper.  —  We  must 
be  beautiful,"  she  added,  turning  pleasantly  again 
to  Sidonia,  "for  we  may  have  a  guest." 

"This  way,  mademoiselle,"  said   Bettine,  briefly. 

As  she  led  Sidonia  across  the  threshold  of  a  violet- 


382  "if  Youth  but  Knew!" 

scented,  violet-hued  bower,  the  lady's  dulcet  tones 
called  after  her  — 

"And  then,  Bettine,  return  to  me  here.  I  have 
to  speed  thee  with  a  little  note." 

"It  is  well,  madame,"  answered  the  French  girl. 
(There  was  no  "fashion"  in  Westphalia  without 
Gallic  handmaids.) 

Sidonia  looked  around,  and  then  at  the  girl's 
hard  face  as  she  closed  the  door.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  a  bog  quivered  under  her  feet  where  she  had 
thought  to  find  firm  footing.  Her  ears  had  been 
first  disagreeably  struck  by  the  word  "mademoiselle," 
and  the  emphasis  that  the  old  lady  had  placed  on  it. 
Mademoiselle  I  —  to  her  who  had  so  clearly  intro- 
duced herself  as  the  wife  of  Count  Kielmansegg. 
The  reference  to  an  expected  visitor  next  filled  her 
with  inchoate  suspicion,  which  the  order  concerning 
a  note  intensified.  She  now  read  an  insolent  mean- 
ing in  Bettine's  eyes  as  they  appraised  her. 

"Whom  does  your  mistress  expect  to  supper?" 
she  asked,  with  sharpness. 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Madame  la 
Mare'chale's  supper-parties  are  very  amusing,"  she 
replied  familiarly  in  her  fluent  but  strangely  accented 
German.  "Little  suppers  —  very  amusing,  very  dis- 
creet. Mademoiselle  will  amuse  herself  to-night 


A   Treacherous  Haven  383 

.  .  .  oh,  she  may  be  sure  she  will  amuse  herself 
royally!"  She  paused  on  the  word  with  an  odious 
smile,  then  pursued  familiarly:  "The  great  thing 
is  that  mademoiselle  should  be  beautiful.  Voyons, 
we  must  off  with  this  cloak.  Will  mademoiselle 
sit  down  ?  Oh,  how  lovely  is  mademoiselle's  figure  ! 
but  her  hair  —  mademoiselle  forgives  ?  —  her  hair 
done  in  despite  of  all  sense!" 

Sidonia  had  felt  it  before  she  had  the  certainty  into 
what  a  trap  she  had  walked.  Now  she  knew;  and 
with  the  clearness  of  her  conviction,  she  also  knew 
what  she  had  to  do.  She  sat  down  silently,  as  bidden ; 
and,  while  the  distasteful  touch  of  the  Mare"chale's 
maid  played  in  her  hair,  made  a  steady  inventory 
of  the  room.  There  was  no  door  but  the  one  lead- 
ing back  into  the  boudoir;  great  windows  were 
curtained  away  behind  the  dressing-table. 

"  Oh,  how  much  better  is  mademoiselle  like  this !" 
cried  Bettine,  falling  back  to  admire  her  work. 

Sidonia  gave  her  own  reflection  an  anxious  scru- 
tiny. One  word,  one  look,  one  sign  of  weakness, 
and  her  hastily  formed  plan  might  be  frustrated. 
.  .  .  Beyond  that  possibility  was  the  horror  upon 
which  she  could  not  look,  .  .  .  upon  which  she  would 
never  look!  For,  at  the  worst,  there  was  still  a 
refuge.  The  fiddler's  words  —  "The  release  of  a 


384  "ff  Youth  but  Knew!" 

clean,  proud  soul  —  that  is  joy!"  came  to  her  ever 
and  again  as  upon  a  strain  of  his  own  music,  and  ever 
with  fresh  strength  and  comfort. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful  is  mademoiselle!"  cried 
Bettine  again,  this  time  with  genuine  enthusiasm. 
"Positively,  it  is  flames  she  has  in  her  glance,  and 
no  rouge  could  beat  me  the  colour  of  those 
cheeks." 

"Bettine  .  .  .  !"  rose  the  Mare'chale's  silver 
voice  from  the  next  room;  and  Sidonia,  flinging 
herself  into  her  part  with  the  instinct  of  the  defence- 
less, smiled  gaily  on  the  girl  as  she  bade  her  go. 

"Mademoiselle  will  not  forget  'tis  I  who  has 
adorned  her  —  when  she  is  in  power?"  insinuated 
the  Mare'chale's  maid. 

"I  shall  not  forget,"  said  Sidonia  between  her 
teeth.  She  seized  the  handle  of  the  door  as  it 
closed  between  them:  fortunately  the  Mare"chale 
liked  discreet  hinges,  and  Sidonia  was  able,  noise- 
lessly, to  draw  it  the  necessary  fraction  of  an  inch 
apart  that  she  might  listen.  There  was  not  a  tremor 
in  her  hands ;  she  held  her  breath  lest  a  rustle  of 
silk  should  betray  her.  The  strong  spirit  rises  to 
the  great  situation. 

There  was  whispering  within.  The  ear  of  the 
heiress  of  Wellenshausen  had  been  trained  in  forest 


A    Treaclierons  Haven  385 

glades,  full  of  the  small  sounds  of  lesser  lives.  She 
caught  a  word  here,  a  word  there. 

"...  The  note  ...  in  his  Majesty's  own 
hands.  .  .  .  Thou  hast  well  understood,  my  girl?" 

"Yes,  Excellence." 

Bettine's  whisper  carried  far.  But  now  the 
Mare'chale  made  a  softer  communication,  of  which 
the  listener  could  gather  no  import,  but  Bettine's 
answer  again  gave  the  dreadful  clue.  It  was  emitted 
with  a  laugh.  "Oh,  no;  your  Excellency  is  wrong 
—  we  are  not  so  scared  as  all  that,  believe  me !" 

A  dulcet  titter  joined  the  note  of  the  servant's 
mirth. 

"At  any  rate,  the  little  bird  is  in  the  cage,"  said 
the  Mare'chale,  as  she  laughed. 

It  was  more  than  enough.  Sidonia  closed  the 
door.  She  found  a  bolt  which  moved  willingly 
under  her  fingers.  Then  a  frenzy  of  haste  came 
upon  her.  The  cloak  over  her  pale  dress  —  the 
hood  over  Bettine's  fine  coiffure !  And  now  the 
window !  People  who  shut  up  a  little  bird  in  a 
cage  should  make  sure  that  the  bars  are  close 
enough  to  keep  it  safe ;  for  the  bird  has  wings,  and 
its  heart  beats  towards  freedom,  towards  the  mate, 
towards  the  nest !  The  Mare"chale's  apartments  were 
on  the  rez-de-chaussee ;  but  had  they  been  on  the  top- 
2  c 


386  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

most  floor,  that  window  would  yet  have  been  the  way 
of  Sidonia's  flight. 

Oh,  how  deliriously  the  chill,  pure  air  beat  upon 
her  face  after  that  evil  hothouse  atmosphere !  By 
the  stillness  and  the  fragrance,  by  the  soft  earth 
under  her  feet,  she  knew  she  had  alighted  into  the 
palace  garden.  It  was  a  murky  night,  and  the  rain 
was  falling;  the  distant  lights  of  the  park  gates 
glimmered  fitfully. 

Sidonia  had  no  idea  whither  to  turn;  but  the 
intention  of  her  heart  was  undeviating  as  the  flight 
of  the  homing  bird.  There  was  only  one  refuge 
for  her,  only  one  place  for  her  —  her  husband's 
arms.  Her  road  was  clear :  she  was  going  to  Steven, 
and,  after  that,  nothing  would  ever  matter  again. 

She  set  off  running  in  the  direction  of  the  gate- 
way lamps.  In  a  minute  her  light  ball-slippers 
were  soaked  with  wet,  clogged  with  mud;  her 
narrow  skirts  clung  against  her  silk  stockings;  now 
she  brushed  against  low  bushes,  now  nearly  fell. 
She  could  run  no  more ;  she  must  grope  her  way. 

But  presently  her  eyes  became  more  accustomed 
to  the  dimness.  A  double  row  of  marble  statues, 
mounting  ghostly  guard  on  each  side  of  the  great 
alley,  showed  white  through  the  trees.  She  knew 
her  bearings  now.  Yonder  fantastic  group  of  lights 


A   Treacherous  Haven  387 

in  front  was  the  Orangerie,  illumined  in  honour  of 
the  royal  fete.  Fortunately  for  her,  the  skies  to- 
night were  not  such  as  to  tempt  guests  to  al  fresco 
rambling.  Further,  to  the  left,  twinkled  the  lamps 
of  the  town,  reflected  through  the  branches  in  the 
waters  of  the  Kleine-Fulda,  which  ran  parallel  to 
the  Avenue,  as  she  knew. 

From  the  Friedrichsthor  —  the  great  gate  of  the 
palace  grounds  —  came  distant  sounds  of  voices, 
laughter  and  calls.  Through  that  issue  she  dared 
hardly  venture.  Even  as  she  stood,  hesitating,  the 
rumble  of  an  approaching  carriage  grew  out  of  the 
night.  She  turned  and  fled  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion —  there  must  be  minor  exits  from  the  park, 
surely,  and,  so  long  as  she  was  within  the  precincts 
of  the  palace,  terror  would  dog  her  steps. 

Her  feet  once  on  the  firm  sand  of  the  alley,  she 
girded  up  her  impeding  skirts.  The  dim  stone 
figures  on  each  side  seemed,  to  her  excited  fancy, 
to  move  their  heads  and  bend  over  to  stare  in  wonder, 
to  bid  her  haste  away,  wise  in  old  knowledge  of  the 
guilty  secrets  of  such  a  court.  Somehow,  these 
silent  figures  were  company  to  her  and  she  missed 
their  presence  when  she  plunged  into  the  first  turn- 
ing which,  she  trusted,  would  lead  towards  the 
town.  Yet,  the  darkness  of  the  trees  closing  about 


388  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

her  brought  a  new  sense  of  protection.  She  was  not 
of  those  who  feel  the  night-horror  of  the  woods; 
the  trees  were  her  friends  from  childhood;  they 
knew  her  and  she  them.  The  softness  and  damp 
smell  of  the  autumn  leaves  beneath  her  tread  were 
grateful  to  her  senses.  The  sound  of  the  Klein  e- 
Fulda  on  her  stony  bed  guided  her  way  to  a  narrow 
Chinese  bridge  over  the  ribbon  of  water.  Soon  she 
had  to  advance  more  slowly  once  again  and  feel  her 
way:  here  the  ground  began  to  ascend,  the  trees  to 
give  place  to  shrubs;  the  path  doubled  and  twisted 
suddenly.  A  blank  wall  sprang  at  her  out  of  the 
gloom.  She  drew  a  quick  breath.  An  illumined 
window-pane  blinked :  —  it  was  the  hoped-for  gate 
of  her  escape,  could  she  now  but  elude  the  sentry's 
challenge  or  carry  herself  with  such  assurance  as  to 
be  allowed  a  passage. 

But  in  Jerome's  kingdom  it  was  the  unexpected 
that  usually  happened.  By  the  gate  stood,  indeed, 
the  inevitable  sentry-box;  but  as,  with  her  heart 
beating  in  her  throat,  Sidonia  approached  tiptoe 
with  endless  precautions,  behold,  it  was  empty! 
The  gate  itself  was  open.  From  within  the  guar- 
dian's lodge,  behind  that  blinking  window,  came  a 
merry  burst  of  song  and  laughter.  Clearly  it  was 
"like  master  like  man."  If  Jerome  thought  that 


A   TreacJicrous  Haven  389 

the  enjoyment  of  the  hour  was  the  most  urgent  busi- 
ness of  existence,  so  did  his  servants,  including  his 
park  sentries.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  whole- 
heartedness  of  the  entertainment  in  the  side  lodge 
of  the  royal  garden  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  HOMING   BIRD 

"  Thy  husband  is  thy  lord,  thy  life,  thy  keeper, 

Thy  head,  thy  sovereign  ;  one  that  cares  for  thee.  .  .  ." 
(The  Taming  of  the  Shrew). 

THE  street  into  which  she  stepped  was  ill-lighted, 
and  contained  but  a  few  poor  houses  facing  the  park 
walls.  It  seemed  to  lead  downwards  to  the  open 
country  and  upwards  to  the  heart  of  the  town. 

Lifting  her  torn  and  draggled  skirts  as  neatly  as 
she  could,  and  pulling  the  folds  of  her  hood  and 
cloak  more  closely  about  her,  she  started  with  deci- 
sion on  the  upward  way.  Here  she  must  go  sedately, 
though  the  hammering  of  her  own  pulses  seemed 
like  the  footsteps  of  pursuers  and  a  mad  impulse, 
ever  and  anon,  seized  her  to  run.  The  gloom  of  the 
park  had  been  infinitely  less  terrible  than  the  town 
with  its  staring  belated  wayfarers,  its  circles  of  light 
under  the  hanging  oil  lamps,  its  nauseous  strips  of 
darkness  where  the  miserable  houses  seemed  to 
touch  each  other  above  her  head,  and  where  gutters 
mingled  in  noisomeness  down  the  middle  of  the 
street.  She  looked  back  on  the  solitude,  with  its 
390 


The  Homing  Bird  391 

clean  pine  breath,  as  a  haven  of  shelter.  But  she 
tramped  unfalteringly  the  maze  of  dirty  streets, 
only  pausing  twice  to  inquire  the  way. 

The  first  time  she  was  kindly  answered  by  the 
poor  faded  woman  she  had  stopped.  .  .  .  The 
H6tel  de  1'Aigle  Imperial  was  in  the  Koenig's  Platz. 
To  reach  it  one  must  take  to  the  left,  then  to  the 
right,  till  one  crossed  the  Friedrich's  Platz;  then, 
keeping  along  the  Obere  Koenig's  Gasse,  one 
would  find  herself  by  the  Hotel.  .  .  .  The  woman 
wrapped  her  thin  shawl  closer  about  her  shoulders, 
smiled  vaguely  in  response  to  Sidonia's  thanks  and 
sped  on  —  God  knows  to  what  miserable  home. 
Trying  to  follow  her  instructions,  Sidonia,  chilled, 
fatigued  and  bewildered,  soon  began  to  doubt  again, 
and  requested  the  help  of  the  next  reputable-look- 
ing being  of  her  sex  on  her  path.  This  was  a  stout, 
red-faced  dame,  followed  by  a  serving  wench  with 
a  lantern;  some  excellent  business  woman  on  the 
way  to  fetch  her  man  from  the  beerhouse,  doubtless. 
She  measured  Sidonia  from  head  to  foot,  caught 
the  gleam  of  the  muddied  satin  of  her  skirts,  of  the 
pearls  at  her  throat,  and  suddenly,  instead  of  reply- 
ing to  the  meek  question,  began  to  rate  her  in  round 
dialect  for  a  trollop  and  a  strumpet:  "Z>w,  mein 
Jott,  and  she  so  young,  too!" 


392  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Most  of  the  epithets  were  meaningless  to  Sidonia ; 
but  voice  and  eye  were  not.  And  when  the  virtuous 
dame  proceeded  to  threats  of  night-watch  and  lock-up, 
the  girl  fairly  took  to  her  heels  and  ran  blindly. 

When  labouring  heart  and  panting  lungs  forced 
a  halt  upon  her,  she  found  herself  in  the  very  region 
of  her  seeking.  By  the  wide  space  around  her,  the 
better  lighting,  the  statue  dominating  in  the  centre 
of  the  tree-planted  square,  this  could  be  no  other 
than  the  Friedrich's  Platz.  But  even  as  she  paused 
to  draw  a  quieter  breath,  before  proceeding  again, 
a  new  alarm  was  upon  her. 

Reeling  as  they  advanced,  linked  together  arm 
in  arm,  roaring  out  a  chorus,  the  real  tune  of  which 
was  a  matter  of  conjecture,  three  fantastic  figures 
turned  into  the  square  from  a  side  street,  and  sud- 
denly confronted  her.  Students  they  were  pro- 
claimed in  every  long  lock  of  hair,  every  extrava- 
gant item  of  attire ;  in  the  high  boots  and  the  spurs, 
the  scarves,  the  clanking  rapiers. 

The  Platz,  with  its  staid  burgherlike  respectability, 
was  filled  with  tipsy  clamour.  Judging  by  the  col- 
ours profusely  displayed  and  the  bellowed  words  of 
the  chorus,  a  bellicose  patriotism  was  the  night's 
inspiration.  But,  not  content  with  wine-jug  and 
harmony,  the  singers  were  not  proof  against  lighter 


The  Homing  Bird  393 

relaxation,  as  became  evident  upon  their  catching 
sight  of  the  girl  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

"A  prize,  a  prize!"  shouted  he  who  seemed  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  three,  a  red-headed  Hercules. 
He  took  a  lurching  run  in  front  of  his  companions, 
seized  Sidonia  playfully  by  the  shoulders,  and  pulled 
her  under  the  light  of  the  nearest  lamp. 

The  furious  gesture  with  which  she  flung  him  off 
revealed  again  the  ill-timed  splendour  of  her  attire. 
For  a  moment  the  three  students  stood  staring  open- 
mouthed.  Then  he  who  seemed  the  soberest  of  the 
party  —  he  had  a  sleek  impertinent  face  and  an 
air  of  jocose  solemnity  —  broke  into  cackling 
laughter : 

"  Positively,  a  bird  from  the  tyrant's  aviary,"  he 
cried.  "A  foreign,  French  bird!  By  all  the  laws 
of  civilized  warfare,  a  prize  of  the  captor!  .  .  . 
Matam!"  he  pursued;  in  a  vile  French,  bowed  ex- 
travagantly, seized  Sidonia's  hand  and  tucked  it 
against  his  side.  "Matam,  fly  to  the  guardianship 
of  the  Law." 

"  Nay,  take  refuge  within  the  bosom  of  the  Church," 
interrupted  the  third,  intoning  the  words:  "Raise 
your  glances  heavenwards!"  He  shot  out  a  black 
arm  and  lifted  her  chin  with  two  dank  fingers  reek- 
ing of  canaster. 


394  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Sidonia,  who  had  been  paralyzed  with  fright  and 
the  sense  of  her  own  helplessness,  here  once  more 
struck  herself  free  —  this  time  with  a  wild  cry  for 
the  watch.  Her  cry  was  answered  by  shouts  and 
cat-calls ;  and  now,  with  a  mighty  clatter  of  spurred 
boots,  a  fresh  detachment  of  Studiosi  joined  the  ad- 
vance party.  As  in  a  nightmare,  Sidonia  found  her- 
self the  centre  of  a  struggling  drunken  laughing 
babel,  which  presently  resolved  itself  into  a  circle 
that  wheeled,  stamping  and  jingling  in  time  to  a 
ribald  chorus. 

One  of  the  dancers  suddenly  broke  the  ring;  a 
flaring  bearded  face  was  thrust  forward. 

"A  kiss,  matamazell,  and  long  live  Westphalia!" 

At  this  last  insult  the  terror  of  the  girl  gave  place 
to  overpowering  anger.  She  struck  the  coarse  face 
so  valiant  a  blow  with  her  open  palm,  that,  already 
none  too  steadily  balanced,  -the  red-haired  giant 
staggered  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  an  officious 
comrade.  A  howl  of  laughter  rose  from  the  rest  of 
the  gang. 

But  as  Sidonia,  tossing  back  her  hood,  broke  into 
vigorous  German,  silence  succeeded  to  clamour. 
The  sight  of  that  head,  so  extraordinarily  young, 
so  golden  in  the  lamp-shine,  struck  the  group  with 
overwhelming  surprise.  And  upon  surprise  came 


"/'ositively,  a  bird  from  the  tyrant's  aviary"  he  cried.  "A  foreign, 
French  bird ' '.  Bv  till  the  laws  of  civilized  warfare,  a  prize  of  the 
captor  .'" 


The  Homing  Bird  395 

shame,  as  the  meaning  of  the  words  that  fell  in- 
dignantly from  Sidonia's  lips,  pierced  to  the  fuddled 
brains.  Wild,  dissipated  boys  they  were,  but  not 
vicious  at  the  core  of  their  German  hearts. 

Here  was  a  girl,  a  lady  —  more,  a  country-woman 
of  their  own;  and,  in  their  own  tongue,  she  was 
telling  them  what  she  thought  of  them.  She  had 
always  been  so  proud  of  being  a  German,  and  now 
she  was  ashamed,  ashamed  to  think  that  Germans 
could  so  behave  to  a  woman !  Students,  too, 
"nobles  of  learning,"  patriots,  they  called  themselves, 
and  to  offer  such  a  spectacle  to  the  Welsch!  She 
had  fled  from  the  palace  down  there  because  she  had 
thought  it  not  the  right  place  for  a  good  German 
woman:  now  she  knew  she  would  have  been  safer 
among  the  French.  .  .  . 

Here  a  groan  escaped  a  youth  less  tipsy  or  more 
susceptible  than  the  rest,  the  quickest  at  any  rate  to 
catch  the  galling  significance  of  this  reproach.  It 
was  echoed  here  and  there  from  the  listening  circle, 
by  sounds  of  remorse  and  dismay.  The  ring  melted 
apart;  one  or  two  caps  were  lifted,  there  was  a 
shuffling  of  feet,  as  the  most  abashed  slunk  away. 
She  stood,  a  flaming  spot  on  each  cheek,  head  held 
high,  still  flashing  scorn  and  fury  upon  the  remainder, 
when,  with  the  perpetual  irony  of  fate,  the  help  that 


396  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

would  have  been  so  valuable  to  her  a  few  minutes 
ago,  and  now  unneeded,  arrived  upon  the  scene. 

A  burly  watchman,  bearing  a  lantern  in  one  hand, 
and  in  the  other  a  halbert  with  which  he  struck  the 
pavement  at  rhythmic  intervals,  came  striding  upon 
them. 

"Come,  sirs,  come,  sirs,  this  is  no  manner  of  be- 
haviour !  No  scandal  in  the  streets,  I  beg.  Honest 
folk  should  be  in  bed  this  hour !  Disperse,  disperse, 
meine  Herren!  And  as  for  the  Madel  there " 

He  flung  the  light  upon  Sidonia's  face  and  stopped, 
he  also  astounded.  But  she  had  caught  in  his  words 
the  music  of  a  well-beloved  and  familiar  accent. 

"Ach,  Gott,  Freund!"  she  cried,  in  his  own  speech, 
flinging  out  both  hands  towards  him,  "do  you  come 
from  my  Thuringia  ?  Then  I  am  safe !  By  these 
Westphalians  to-night,  I,  an  unprotected  woman, 
have  been  cruelly  insulted." 

Thuringian  wits  are  not  specially  quick;  but 
Thuringian  hearts  are  sound,  as  Sidonia  knew,  and 
the  appeal  of  the  home  language  went  straight  to  the 
watchman's.  He  flung  himself  before  the  girl,  and 
turned  threateningly  upon  her  molesters,  raising 
his  halbert  in  a  fashion  which  in  any  other  circum- 
stances would  have  been  fiercely  resented  by  stu- 
dents as  against  their  academic  privileges. 


The  Homing  Bird  397 

But  to-night  the  situation  was  hardly  one  that 
admitted  of  academic  haughtiness.  The  over- 
cheerful  band  scattered  like  night  birds,  here  and 
there  a  shamefaced  youth  lifting  his  ridiculous 
head-gear  before  vanishing. 

Sidonia  and  her  countryman  were  alone.  Then 
he,  a  stout  veteran,  grey-whiskered,  with  a  comfort- 
able fatherly  presence,  turned  a  shrewd,  kind,  yet 
grave  scrutiny  upon  her: 

"Na,  child!"  he  exclaimed;  "and  what,  in  the 
name  of  God,  brings  you  in  the  streets  at  this  hour?" 

She  told  him  the  bare  truth,  down  to  her  name: 
how  she  had  left  the  palace  to  seek  the  protection 
of  her  husband,  who  was  at  an  inn  in  the  town. 

The  old  man  nodded  two  or  three  times  compre- 
hendingly.  He  knew  the  Chancellor,  as  small 
people  know  the  great;  knew  Wellenshausen,  as 
who  did  not  know  the  noble  name  on  the  marches 
of  Thuringia;  knew  that  a  Thuringian  lady  was 
wise  to  leave  that  place  yonder  —  with  a  jerk  of  his 
lantern.  But  why  came  she  apart  from  her  husband 
at  all  —  how  had  he  left  her  there  ? 

"It  was  against  his  will;  but  I  was  angry  with 
him,"  said  Sidonia,  ingenuously.  She  looked  up  at 
the  old  face,  like  a  child,  and  tears  welled  into  her 
eyes. 


398  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  !  " 

The  good  man  gave  a  chuckle.  A  great  lady  was 
the  daughter  of  Wellenshausen,  the  greatest  lady 
in  his  own  country;  but  to  him,  in  very  truth,  to- 
night only  a  foolish  child  under  his  guardianship. 
He  shook  his  head  at  her  and  began  to  chide  in 
homely  fashion. 

Aye,  aye,  it  was  very  wrong  for  a  woman  to  dis- 
obey her  husband.  All  good  German  women  were 
submissive  to  their  lords.  Now  she  saw  what  dangers 
surrounded  rebellious  wives !  She  was  right  to  go 
back  to  him.  She  must  be  humble  and  ask  forgive- 
ness.- Aye,  aye,  he  would  guide  her  to  the  hotel 
door.  Certainly !  Was  it  likely  indeed  that  he 
would  leave  her  till  he  had  seen  her  safe  within  ? 

He  shifted  his  lantern  into  the  hand  that  held 
the  halbert,  and  gladly  Sidonia  felt  his  rough  fingers 
close  on  her  wrist.  She  went  beside  him,  weak  now 
and  shaken,  and  listened  in  meekness  to  his  homily. 
By-and-by,  finding  her  in  such  good  disposition,  he 
endeavoured  to  beguile  the  way  with  more  general 
topics.  The  Thuringian  dialect  became  broader 
and  broader  as  he  foretold  the  clean-out  of  honest 
Germany  from  the  Welsch  intruders;  the  downfall 
of  the  monkey  tyrant,  and  the  approaching  good 
days  when  true-minded  folk  would  come  by  their 
own  again  in  Westphalia.  Eh,  it  would  not  be  long, 


The  Homing  Bird  399 

he  added  mysteriously.  Na,  he  knew  what  he  knew. 
It  was  a  good  thing  she  was  out  of  the  French  palace, 
for  more  reasons  than  one  —  aye,  aye. 

Sidonia  could  have  cried  for  joy  when,  emerging 
upon  the  little  round  Koenig's  Platz,  she  saw  the 
gilt  eagle,  illumined  by  a  red  lamp,  shine  out  in 
sanguinary  grandeur  from  the  front  of  the  old 
German  house.  On  the  doorstep  she  once  again 
offered  both  her  hands  to  the  watchman;  he  shook 
them  cordially. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!"  she  said.  "Oh,  I 
wish  I  had  something  to  give  you  to  remember  me 
by !  ...  I  have  not  any  money."  She  made  a 
hesitating  gesture  towards  a  ring  on  her  finger. 
He  interrupted  her: 

"Let  that  alone,  child  —  I  shall  not  forget  you. 
Good  night  .  .  .  and  be  good!" 

He  knocked  for  her;  stood  firmly  planted  on  the 
pavement,  watching  her  entrance  and  smiling  into 
his  whiskers. 

***** 

"I  am  the  Countess  Kielmansegg,"  said  Sidonia 
to  the  sleepy  porter.  "Show  me  to  the  count's 
room." 

Her  tone  was  imperious.  The  man  stared  sul- 
lenly a  moment,  then  swallowed  a  yawn;  he  had 


"If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

but  just  been  roused  from  a  comfortable  nap  to 
take  up  the  night  work,  and  the  only  perception 
awake  in  him  was  an  acute  sense  of  injury.  Without 
a  word,  he  turned  and  led  the  way  up  the  square, 
dark  stairs  to  the  second  floor.  Before  Steven's 
door  his  slouch  came  to  a  halt ;  he  lifted  a  hand  to 
knock,  but  she  arrested  him. 

"Is  that  the  room?    You  may  go,"  she  said. 

She  waited  till  his  heavy  foot  had  tramped  the 
whole  downward  way,  then,  with  a  sudden  over- 
whelming feeling  that  if  she  hesitated  now  her 
courage  would  after  all  fail  her,  she  turned  the 
handle  of  the  door  and  went  quickly  in. 

The  room  was  deserted.  As  she  realized  this, 
Sidonia's  heart  seemed  to  empty  itself  of  the  hopes, 
the  yearnings,  even  the  terror,  which  had  so  filled  it 
these  last  hours.  All  became  a  blank,  a  void. 
Never  for  a  moment  had  she  contemplated  the  pos- 
sibility of  Steven's  absence.  She  closed  the  door 
and  sank  dully  on  the  first  chair.  Presently  the 
sense  of  shelter,  the  warmth  about  her,  the  serenity 
of  the  silence  and  solitude,  began  to  soothe  her  into 
comfort.  She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  around. 
The  room  was  lighted  by  an  oil  lamp  on  the  table; 
fire  was  lapping  in  the  china  stove;  sundry  chattels 
of  Steven's  were  scattered  about ;  his  valise  gaped, 


The  Homing  Bird  401 

still  open,  in  a  corner.  No  fear,  then,  but  that  he 
would  return  to-night. 

The  vague  fragrance  of  the  lavender  scent  he 
liked  brought  his  presence  suddenly  and  vividly  to 
her.  The  little  bride  melted  into  tears.  She  was 
worn  out;  her  aching  feet  stung  her  as  she  held 
them  against  the  warm  porcelain  of  the  stove.  Her 
whole  being  seemed  melted,  her  spirit  broken;  but 
there  was  a  balm  sweeter  than  triumph  in  this  hour 
of  her  woman's  surrender.  All  Betty's  words,  her 
gibes  and  threats,  even  what  had  seemed  to  be 
actual  proofs  of  Steven's  deceit,  passed  from  her 
mind,  as  if  washed  away  by  these  healing  tears. 
There  are  moments  when  the  soul  can  see  beyond 
facts. 

Presently,  in  the  general  relaxation  of  mind  and 
body,  the  exhaustion  consequent  on  the  fatigues  and 
emotions  of  the  day  overcame  her.  She  sank  into 
vague  brief  sleeps,  to  awake,  her  heart  beating  in 
her  throat  with  reminiscences  of  past  alarms.  Thus 
she  started  at  length  from  a  vivid  dream  that  the 
Burgrave,  Betty,  d'Albignac  and  Jerome  had 
tracked  her  and  were  carrying  her  back  to  the  palace. 
She  came  to  full  consciousness  of  solitude,  but  could 
not  still  the  wild  fear  at  her  heart.  .  .  .  Betty's 
cunning,  was  as  a  sleuth-hound's  —  Betty  would  well 


4O2  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

know  where  to  trace  her.  .  .  .  Sidonia  had  given 
her  name  to  the  porter.  It  would  be  bootless  to 
lock  the  door,  for  one  thrust  of  the  Burgrave's 
shoulder  would  dispose  of  sounder  defences.  They 
would  be  dragging  her  away;  Steven  would  return 
and  never  know !  .  .  .  She  rose,  shaking  in  every 
limb,  and  looked  desperately  round. 

Then  a  thought  sprang  into  her  brain,  quaint 
and  childish,  yet  to  her  an  inspiration  of  angels. 
The  great  old  German  bed  in  the  alcove  was  hung 
with  curtains;  she  would  creep  into  its  shelter  and 
draw  the  yellow  damask  folds  close  around  her. 
There  would  she  be  safe  as  a  bird  in  her  nest  in  the 
leaves  —  in  a  room  within  a  room.  And,  hidden, 
she  could  listen  for  her  husband's  step. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

DAWN  MUSIC 

"  2Bir  fufyren  alletn  im  bunfetn 
s.]3o«tn>agen  bie  ganje  nadjt; 
JBir  rufyten  etnanber  am 
2Btr  fyaben  gesdjerjt  unb  gelacfyt  .  .  . 
35od)  al8  e8  morgen  tagte, 
2Jiein  ftnb,  wie  Staunten  »ir! 
®enn  jmi^en  un«  8a«8  2lmor, 
2)er  blinbe  ^a«8ogter.  .  .  ." 

HEINE. 

THE  previous  day,  after  his  interview  with  Sidonia, 
Steven  had  spent  most  of  his  time  searching  for  the 
fiddler.  At  first  he  had  hunted  for  him,  on  the  im- 
pulse of  his  anger,  more  for  the  mere  relief  of  up- 
braiding him  and  of  railing  to  some  one  upon  the 
perversity  of  his  bride,  than  for  the  sake  of  counsel. 
But  later,  as  temper  gave  place  to  more  serious 
thought,  and  the  young  man's  better  nature  asserted 
itself,  he  longed  for  his  friend  that  he  might  discuss 
with  him  the  means  of  meeting  this  most  untoward 
trick  of  fate,  of  safeguarding  the  headstrong  child 
they  both  loved  from  the  danger  of  her  surroundings. 
403 


404  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

It  was  chiefly  the  old  quarters  of  the  town  that 
saw  his  disconsolate  roaming.  There  was  not  a 
homely  wine-garden,  not  a  poor  beer-house,  where 
he  did  not  stop  and  inquire.  Had  he  been  in  the 
mood  to  notice  such  things,  he  might  have  been 
struck  by  the  strange  atmosphere  of  ferment  brood- 
ing everywhere,  especially  in  the  purlieus  beyond 
the  river.  There  was  a  buzz  about  Cassel,  like  the 
hum  of  the  swarming  hive;  as  yet  inarticulate,  but 
ominous  of  wrath.  It  was  perhaps,  however,  this 
very  unconsciousness  that  preserved  him  from  some 
danger  on  his  vain  quest.  Once  or  twice  he  was 
followed ;  in  most  places  he  was  looked  at  askance. 
One  truculent  host  met  his  question  with  another: 
what  did  he  want  of  Geiger-Hans?  But  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  answer  disarmed  suspicion : 

"He  is  my  friend;   I  want  his  help." 

The  master  of  "The  Great  Tun"  became  imme- 
diately pleasant  and  conversational.  —  No,  Geiger- 
Hans  had  not  been  about  here  for  many  weeks, 
more  wras  the  pity ;  he  was  wanted. 

Disheartened  and  tired  out,  at  last  Steven  re- 
turned to  his  hotel;  but  not  to  rest.  He  indited  a 
letter  to  the  Burgrave,  demanding  his  wife  in  the 
name  of  the  law  of  every  country,  and  ending  up 
with  a  scarcely  veiled  threat  as  to  his  power  of  making 


Dawn  Music  405 

himself  unpleasant  to  the  Lord  of  Wellenshausen. 
Then,  after  having  devoted  some  special  attention 
to  his  attire,  he  again  sought  the  palace  gates.  When 
he  had  left  his  letter  with  the  porter,  together  with  a 
gratuity  so  noble  that  it  could  not  fail  to  buy  the 
promptitude  of  delivery  he  desired,  he  demanded 
audience  of  one  of  the  chamberlains. 

On  receipt  of  the  fine  coroneted  card,  the  dis- 
tinguished traveller  was  courteously  entertained  by 
Jerome's  official,  who  volunteered  to  send  him  a 
formal  invitation  to  the  court  concert  on  the  morrow. 
Steven  accepted  with  alacrity,  and  the  urbane  cham- 
berlain further  promised  personally  to  introduce 
Count  Waldorff-Kielmansegg  to  his  royal  master  on 
the  occasion.  They  parted  with  civilities  on  both 
sides,  and  Steven,  feeling  that  the  way  was  unex- 
pectedly smoothed  before  him,  passed  the  evening 
in  more  cheerful  mood.  Some  instinct,  rather  than 
any  set  reason,  had  kept  him  from  mentioning  his 
connection  with  the  Lord  of  Wellenshausen. 

The  next  day  he  had  the  trivial,  yet  by  no  means 
easy,  task  to  accomplish  of  procuring  fitting  gar- 
ments for  a  court  function.  A  misgiving  at  the 
non-appearance  of  the  promised  invitation  began  to 
press  upon  him  as  the  day  waned;  and  though  he 
rated  himself  for  being  as  nervous  as  a  woman,  and 


406  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

found  a  thousand  good  reasons  to  explain  away  the 
omission,  it  was  with  a  boding  heart  that  he  set  out, 
full  early,  for  the  palace.  The  Burgrave  had  treated 
his  letter  with  contemptuous  silence.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  there  was  a  connection  here  with  the  non- 
fulfilment  of  the  chamberlain's  offered  civility?  If 
so,  Steven  had  mightily  blundered. 

The  uninvited  guest  had  planned  to  march  boldly 
into  the  palace  without  further  ado.  But,  some- 
what to  his  surprise,  and  much  to  his  discomfiture, 
there  was  an  unusual  and  severe  watch  at  Jerome's 
doors  to-night.  He  was  checked,  questioned,  his 
card  was  demanded  of  him,  and  on  the  representa- 
tion that  he  had  been  verbally  invited  by  the  cham- 
berlain, he  was  sent  from  pillar  to  post,  and  finally 
landed  in  a  small  ante-room,  at  the  door  of  which  a 
couple  of  lackeys  presently  stationed  themselves 
as  if  to  keep  watch  upon  him.  With  burning  in- 
dignation and  an  inexpressible  sense  of  helplessness, 
he  heard  the  music  strike  up  far  away;  heard  the 
gay  passage  of  luckier  guests  without ;  in  the  inter- 
vals, the  whispers  and  muffled  laughter  of  the  ser- 
vants. 

After  prolonged  delay,  a  majestic  individual, 
with  a  gilt  chain  round  his  neck,  entered  and  in- 
formed M,  le  Comte  that  his  excellency  the  cham- 


Daivn  Music  407 

berlain  deeply  regretted  his  error  of  the  previous 
day,  but  that  the  lists  had  already  been  closed.  It 
had  been  deemed  that,  not  receiving  the  card,  M.  le 
Comte  would  have  fully  understood. 

Steven  rose  to  his  feet,  turned  a  white  face  and 
blazing  eyes  on  the  official;  the  amazing  slight  to 
himself,  conveyed  by  the  flimsy  and  improbable 
excuse,  sank  into  insignificance  before  the  sense  of 
the  trickery  that  must  have  prompted  it. 

"Fetch  me  ink  and  paper,"  he  demanded;  "the 
matter  does  not  end  here." 

With  that  suavity  which,  opposed  to  passion, 
becomes  impertinence,  the  old  man  bowed  and 
disappeared.  Shortly  afterwards  the  same  porter 
whom  Steven  had  interviewed  the  day  before  sidled 
into  the  room,  bearing  the  required  writing  materials. 
As  he  bent  across  the  young  man,  he  whispered  in 
friendly  tones,  one  eye  warily  upon  the  watchers  at 
the  door: 

"The  gracious  one  would  do  well  to  be  gone 
at  his  best  speed.  Should  he  give  more  trouble  he 
may  be  arrested ;  odd  orders  are  given  at  the  palace 
to-night,  please  his  graciousness." 

It  did  not  need  long  reflection  to  show  Steven 
the  wisdom  of  taking  the  hint.  He  had  a  sudden 
maddening  vision  of  himself  imprisoned,  helpless, 


408  "  If  Youth  but  Knew  ! ' 

and  Sidonia  unprotected  here.  No  one  attempted 
to  stop  him ;  he  passed  out,  unmolested,  into  the  wet 
night.  Long  and  restlessly  he  roamed  the  park,  and 
then  the  streets,  revolving  endless  and  impossible 
plans  of  action.  No  plan,  no  solution,  reached,  he  at 
last  took  his  moody  way  back  to  the  Friedrich's  Platz. 

Perhaps  Geiger-Hans  might  have  been  inspired 
of  their  need !  Perhaps,  faint  hope,  he  might  find 
him  waiting  at  the  Aigle  Imperial. 

A  very  different  personality  sat  in  expectation 
of  his  return,  feeding  patience  with  cognac  in  the 
public  room.  It  was  General  d'Albignac,  the 
King's  Master  of  the  Horse. 

At  sight  of  Steven  this  worthy  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  saluted  with  a  great  air  of  cordiality,  running 
over  the  Austrian's  name  and  title,  and  announcing 
his  own  in  French,  all  glib  affability. 

"We  have  met  before,  sir,"  sternly  said  Steven, 
who  was  in  fine  humour  for  destruction. 

"I  think  not,"  answered  the  equerry.  His  eyes 
had  a  red  glitter  which  denied  his  smile.  "I  think 
not,  M.  le  Comte.  Nay,  I  am  positive  it  is  the  first 
time  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  addressing  you." 

Steven  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Have  it  so,"  he  said  contemptuously,  and  glanced 
at  the  cheek  against  which  his  hand  had  once  ex- 


Dawn  Music  409 

ulted.  "After  all,  it  is  you  who  had  the  more  strik- 
ing cause  to  remember.  —  What  do  you  want  with 
me?"  he  added,  with  British  bluntness. 

D'Albignac's  smile  was  stiff  over  his  white  teeth; 
his  fingers  twitched  upon  the  bundle  of  papers  he 
had  pulled  out  of  his  sabretasche.  But  the  Master 
of  the  Horse  had  no  illusions  as  to  the  length  of 
Jerome's  power;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  that  docu- 
ment, once  properly  endorsed,  meant  his  own  future 
prosperity.  It  was  worth  a  minute's  urbanity 
towards  one  whom  otherwise  it  would  have  been 
relief  to  hew  down. 

"I  have  business  with  you  —  business  of  deli- 
cacy, sir;  I  trust,  easily  despatched.  A  short 
private  conversation  between  us."  He  cast  a  mean- 
ing look  at  the  French  officers  playing  piquet  and 
tric-trac  in  their  proximity. 

"I  can  conceive  no  business,"  said  Steven,  "be- 
tween us,  sir,  but  one.  Nevertheless,  come  to  my 
room.  I  can  promise  you  that  my  answer  will  be 
of  quick  despatch." 

So  he  walked  up  the  ill-lit  stairs,  with  d'Albignac 
clanking  at  his  heels,  and  pushed  his  way  into  his 
bed  chamber  before  him  —  the  creature  should  not 
be  treated  otherwise  than  as  the  dog  he  was. 

"Shut  the  door,"  said  he,  "and  say  your  say." 


410  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Again  d'Albignac  successfully  fought  his  own  fury. 

"  A  matter  of  delicacy,  as  I  said,  my  dear  sir.  .  .  . 
Mademoiselle  de  Wellenshausen  is,  you  are  aware, 
now  at  the  palace?" 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Countess  Waldorff-Kielman- 
segg?"  put  in  Steven,  threatening. 

"Immaterial,  now  !"  deprecated  the  other.  "The 
marriage,  I  understand,  is  regretted  on  both  sides. 
Your  signature  here,  and  we  see  to  the  rest." 

Steven  listened  with  outward  calmness. 

"We?"  echoed  he.  "What  have  you  to  say  to 
this,  Colonel  d'Albignac?" 

It  is  not  always  by  weight  of  hand  or  stroke  of 
sword  that  man  can  have  his  sweetest  vengeance 
upon  man.  D'Albignac,  as  he  replied,  knew  that  he 
was  at  last  paying  off  scores: 

"The  King,"  he  said  — "my  King,  His  Majesty 
Jerome,  takes  an  interest  in  the  lady." 

Jerome  .  .  .  !  This  then  explained  all,  ex- 
plained the  non-appearance  of  the  card,  the  hostile 
reception  at  the  palace.  Sidonia,  the  child  who  had 
lain  in  his  arms,  and  Jerome !  Steven  felt  suddenly 
as  if  the  clasps  of  his  cloak  were  strangling  him.  He 
tore  them  apart,  falling  back  two  or  three  steps, 
that  he  might  fling  the  burden  on  the  bed.  After 
that  first  flaming  revelation  there  came  to  him  a 


Dawn  Music  411 

deadly  calmness.  He  did  not  in  the  least  know 
what  he  was  about  to  do ;  it  was  quite  possible  that 
he  might  have  to  execute  justice  upon  Jerome's 
dog  before  reaching  Jerome  himself ;  in  any  case,  he 
must  have  his  limbs  free.  The  grating  voice  went  on : 

"It  is  my  sovereign's  desire  that  the  young  heiress 
of  Wellenshausen  should  espouse  a  member  of  his 
own  household.  And  his  Majesty's  choice  has 
fallen  upon  your  servant  here.  I  may  say  the  charm- 
ing creature  herself  is  not  unwilling." 

In  that  dangerous  white  mood  of  passion  which 
can  simulate  highest  composure,  Steven  heard 
without  wincing.  —  Mechanically  he  gathered  his 
cloak  into  a  bundle  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  curtain 
of  his  bed.  —  Then  he  stood  silent,  as  if  stricken, 
staring  through  the  narrow  opening  of  the  damask 
folds,  his  back  turned  to  his  enemy. 

D'Albignac  rubbed  his  hands  and  chuckled. 
Was  not  all  this  better  than  the  most  sounding  re- 
turn slap  in  the  face?  Better  even  than  feeling 
the  easy  steel  run  through  flesh,  grate  against  bone  ? 

"And  when  my  royal  master,"  he  pursued,  "has 
a  notion  in  his  head,  mille  tonnerres,  he  is  no  more  to 
be  kept  back  than  his  Imperial  brother  from  victory. 
Oh,  he  is  of  an  impetuosity ;  d'une  fougue,  d'une 
verve!  .  ,  ,  more  eager  even  than  myself,  the 


412  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

lucky  bridegroom,  to  have  these  papers  executed. 
'If  you  wait  till  to-morrow,  d'Albignac,  my  friend,' 
he  said  to  me,  'the  count  may  be  gone,  and  that 
may  mean  delay.  .  .  .  Intolerable!'  Hence,  M.  le 
Comte,  my  unceremonious  visit,  and  at  this  undue 
hour  —  already  excused,  no  doubt !  Your  signature, 
please,  here.  I  can  be  witness.  One  stroke  of  the 
pen,  and  you  make  three  people  happy  .  .  .  not 
to  speak  of  yourself!" 

The  cloak  glided  from  Count  Kielmansegg's 
arm  on  to  the  floor.  He  closed  the  curtains  deli- 
cately and  faced  his  visitor. 

"If  you  will  leave  the  deed,  General,"  said  he, 
"I  will  peruse  it  to-night,  and  you  can  have  it  back 
in  the  morning." 

He  took  the  paper  with  marked  courtesy  from 
d'Albignac's  hand.  His  face  was  paler  than  be- 
fore, but  there  was  a  singular  smile  upon  it,  a  singu- 
lar light  in  the  eyes.  The  youth's  composure  com- 
pletely deceived  and  imposed  upon  d'Albignac,  who, 
indeed,  was  none  of  the  subtle-witted. 

"An  annulment  is  easier  to  secure  than  a  divorce, 
and  makes  less  of  a  scandal,  does  it  not?"  he  said, 
with  an  insufferable  air  of  intelligence. 

"I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,"  answered  Steven. 

"Sacrebleu,  and  the  girl  is  the    greatest    heiress 


Dawn  Music  413 

in  Westphalia !  What  a  morgue  these  Austrians 
have !  .  .  .  The  merest  hint,  it  is  enough  with 
them!"  thought  the  General  as  he  drew  a  noisy 
breath  of  laughter  and  relief.  "  Enchanted,"  he  went 
on  aloud,  "enchanted,  my  young  friend,  to  find  you  so 

reasonable.     I  see  you  take  me Ah,  yes ;  these 

are  sad  times ;  and  the  soldier  of  fortune  (such  as  I 
am)  cannot  afford  to  be  squeamish.  Hey !  the  King 
sups  with  Countess  Kielmansegg.  .  .  .  Nay,  shall 
we  not  say  .  .  .  Mademoiselle  de  W ellenshausen  ? 
.  .  .  to-night,  at  this  very  moment!" 

Steven's  smile  flashed  broadly  a  second.  "He 
would  grin  on  the  rack,"  thought  d'Albignac. 

"A  demain,  General,"  said  Steven,  "but  not 
before  noon,  please." 

His  tone  was  quiet,  even  soft.  He  advanced 
without  hurry  towards  his  visitor,  tapped  him 
lightly  on  the  shoulder  and  pointed  to  the  door. 

The  two  stood  looking,  eye  into  eye;  and  the 
fighting  brute  rose  again  clamouring  in  d'Albignac's 
huge  body.  But  something  inscrutable  in  Steven's 
glance,  its  fire,  almost  its  gaiety,  made  him  quail. 
He  felt  that  here  he  was  more  than  matched,  and 
broke  ground  with  a  clumsy  bow — failure  for  irony. 
His  great  boots  resounded  down  the  wooden  stairs. 
*  *  *  *  # 


414  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

Steven  parted  the  curtains  and  stood  looking 
down  upon  the  sleeping  figure. 

So  the  bird  had  come  home,  after  all !  Sidonia 
lay  like  the  weary  child  she  was,  wrapped  in  so  pro- 
found a  slumber,  the  slumber  of  exhaustion,  that 
even  d'Albignac's  noisy  presence  had  failed  to  dis- 
turb her.  Her  slender  arms  were  outflung,  her 
hands  faintly  curled  in  an  attitude  of  utter  relaxa- 
tion. Through  parted  lips  her  breath  came  as 
placidly  as  an  infant's.  The  yellow  hair  sprang  in 
tangled  masses  round  the  little  pale  face.  Never 
had  her  extreme  youth  so  utterly  betrayed  itself. 
But  how  wan  she  seemed;  how  worn  out  through 
all  the  placidity  of  her  repose !  The  narrow  satin 
skirts  were  frayed  and  sodden;  one  little  silk-clad 
foot  out-thrust,  shoeless,  was  stained  with  mud  — 
aye,  and  streaked  with  blood. 

His  child-wife  .  .  .    ! 

Over  what  rough  ways  had  she  come  to  him? 
Skirting  what  chasm,  blacker,  deeper,  more  relent- 
less than  the  Burgrave's  oubliette!  Slowly,  hardly 
wotting  what  he  did,  Steven  went  down  on  his  knees 
beside  her,  unconsciously  still  clutching  d'Albignac's 
paper.  Over  and  above  the  old  protective  tender- 
ness, an  infinite  tide  of  love  flooded  his  whole  being. 
—  His  child-wife ! 


His  ch  Hit-wife    .  .  .  .' 

The  watchman  u>as  chanting  the  ta!e  of  the  f.,\!  i,u.-i:'.;i^  hour,  -c/ien, 
close  upon  <r  peremptory  knotk,  G tiger-Hans  broke  into  the  room. 


Dawn  Music  415 

The  watchman  was  chanting  the  tale  of  the  first 
morning  hour,  when,  close  upon  a  peremptory  knock 
at  the  door,  Geiger-Hans  broke  hurriedly  into  the 
room.  He  halted,  though  his  mission  was  urgent, 
at  sight  of  Steven's  countenance. 

"Aha,  all  is  well,  then,"  he  cried  sharply,  as  the 
young  man  rose  from  his  knees  and  came  forward 
to  meet  him,  and  his  own  haggard  features  were 
suddenly  illumined  as  by  a  reflection  of  the  joy 
marked  in  the  other's  eyes.  And  then,  it  was  no 
surprise  to  him  that  Sidonia,  waking,  should  pres- 
ently thrust  out  her  rosy  face  between  the  curtains : 
he  had  already  known,  through  Steven's  eyes,  that 
the  children  he  loved  were  together. 

"Steven!"  cried  Sidonia. 

"Ah,  Sidonia  .  .  .  !" 

He  ran  to  her.  And,  regardless  of  Geiger-Hans, 
they  clasped  each  other,  the  deed  of  annulment 
dropping  between  them. 

***** 

"Now,  children!"  said  Geiger-Hans,  briskly  — 
he  was  laughing,  but  the  tears,  which  few  had  ever 
seen  before  in  them,  glittered  in  his  eyes  —  "you 
will  have  plenty  of  time  by  and  by ;  now  it  is  haste, 
haste,  haste !  I  have  a  carriage  for  you  waiting 
below.  Ha,  little  Madame  Sidonia,  laugh  with  me ! 


416  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

It  is  the  Burgra vine's  own  carriage  —  nothing  less ! 
Nay,  German  wives  do  not  so  easily  escape  their 
husbands,  even  at  Jerome's  court.  My  Lady  Bur- 
gravine  makes  no  journeying  to-night,  or  ever,  if 
I  may  prophesy,  away  from  her  lord !  A  berline 
and  four  good  posthorses  .  .  .  'twere  pity  to  waste 
them  !  Quick,  children !  For  I  tell  you  night  may 
not  be  over  ere  the  storm  break  on  this  town  1" 

Sidonia  had  little  preparation  to  make.  She  put 
on  her  cloak.  From  the  depths  of  her  hood,  her 
happy  eyes  looked  inquiringly  at  the  fiddler. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  she  asked. 

"Where?"  replied  the  wanderer,  "where,  but  to 
the  forest,  to  the  green  arms  that  will  hold  your  love 
so  safely,  so  discreetly?  To  the  quiet  and  peace  of 
the  forest,  before  you  shape  your  way  together, 
children,  into  the  great  noisy  world.  To  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  forest,  you,  young  magnate,  that  you 
may  for  ever  afterwards  have  a  memory  of  love  as  the 
breath  of  nature  itself  to  haunt  you  in  your  grandeur. 
To  the  Forest  House,  you,  little  madam,  whither  I 
once  brought  a  youth  who  was  missing  his  springtime 

and  had  lost  his  way,  that  he  might  find  them  both." 
***** 

The  fiddler  sat  on  the  box,  and  the  horses  went 
roundly.  The  rain  had  given  place  to  a  heavy  autum- 


Dawn  Music  417 

nal  mist,  soaking,  all  encompassing.  It  muffled  every 
sound,  the  drumming  of  the  hoofs  in  the  mud,  the  roll 
of  the  wheels,  the  very  clack  of  the  whip.  But  he 
drove  with  extraordinary  sureness  and  speed  in  spite 
of  the  gloom,  and  the  lamps  of  the  berline  soon  cast 
their  flashes  out  upon  the  flying  ghosts  of  the  poplars 
on  the  desert  country  road.  It  seemed  as  if  the  night, 
the  whole  world,  connived  at  the  lovers'  flight,  gath- 
ered round  them  in  screening  mystery  and  silence. 

Sidonia  lay  on  her  husband's  shoulder,  half  dream- 
ing again  in  happy  weariness,  lulled  by  the  monoto- 
nous movement  and  rhythm.  It  was  from  a  profound 
sleep  that  she  started  suddenly  with  a  faint  cry : 

"What  was  that?"  —  A  dull  boom  was  still 
droning  in  her  ears. 

"That  was  cannon,"  said  Steven. 

At  this  moment  the  carriage  drew  up,  and  they 
could  hear  the  fiddler  calling  to  them.  Steven  put 
his  head  out  of  the  window  and  saw  the  dark  face 
with  its  sardonic  smile,  lit  up  by  the  carriage-lamp, 
looking  down  at  him. 

"Did  you  mark  that,  comrade?  —  and  again! 
Ha,  there  goes  little  brother  Jerome's  little  throne ! 
Hey,  what  a  scuttle  there  be  yonder  now !  My 
children,  you  have  not  run  away  together  one  hour 
too  soon.  That  will  no  doubt  be  Csernischeff  and 


41 8  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

his  Cossacks;  they  have  made  good  use  of  the  first 
autumn  fog.  It  is  in  with  them  by  the  Leipzig 
gate,  no  doubt  —  of  ill  omen !  And  few  of  our 
honest  Westphalians  will  care  to  turn  out  to-night 
and  be  spitted  or  shot  for  the  sweet  eyes  of  Jerome. 
It  is  the  end  this  time  —  meet  that  it  should  be  our 
friends  the  Huns  that  do  the  scavenging.  .  .  . 
You  remember  them,  Count  Steven,  the  carrion 
crows  on  the  trail  ...  ?" 

Sidonia  pulled  her  husband  back  that  she  might 
look  out  in  her  turn.  The  red  glow  of  some  distant 
conflagration  was  beginning  to  be  faintly  perceptible 
behind  them  in  the  pall  of  fog.  She  had  heard  the 
fiddler's  explanation,  and  rejoiced  in  her  young, 
unforgiving  heart.  Yet  already  Cassel  and  its 
terrors  were  fading  from  her  mind.  She  sniffed  the 
wet  air  as  a  doe  might ;  and  while  the  fiddler  gazed 
down  at  her,  an  air  of  tender  amusement  driving 
the  scorn  from  his  face,  she  strained  her  ear  as  though 
to  catch  some  secret  sounds. 

"Yes,  child,"  said  he,  nodding  at  her;  "yes,  it 
is  the  woods  you  smell,  the  trees  you  hear.  Yonder 
is  the  inn  of  The  Three  Ways,  and  presently  we  shall 
turn  into  the  forest  road." 

Sidonia  sank  back  beside  Steven,  a  smile  upon 
her  lips.  Then  they  both  became  aware  that  they 


Dawn  Music  419 

could  see  each  other  in  a  strange  glimmer  that  was 
scarcely  yet  light.  Without,  the  mist  was  now  white, 
torn  ever  and  anon  by  swaying  streaks  of  faint  blue. 

"It  is  the  new  day,"  said  she  under  her  breath. 

"The  day  that  is  ours,"  said  Steven.  And  as 
they  kissed,  the  horses'  hoofs  struck  upon  the  ascent 
and  the  great  trees  sprang  up  about  them. 

By  sunset  they  reached  the  Forest  House. 

And  when  the  Forest-Mother  beheld  them,  she 
clapped  her  hands  and  laughed,  and  called  on 
heaven  and  all  the  saints,  and  then  kissed  them  all 
three  —  a  freedom  she  never  could  recall  afterwards 
without  amazement  —  and,  finally,  she  flung  her 
blue  embroidered  apron  over  her  head  and  wept 
aloud  in  gladness. 

But  nothing  could  hamper  the  preparation  of 
the  finest  supper  that  ever  the  Forest  House  had  seen ; 
and  about  it  there  drew  together  such  a  happy  com- 
pany as  even  its  happy  walls  had  never  held  before. 

By  and  by  they  sat  round  the  great  hearth.  Some 
one  asked  Geiger-Hans  for  music.  But  he  shook 
his  head.  And  spells  of  silence  ever  more  frequent 
and  prolonged  began  to  fall  between  the  talking 
and  laughing;  the  great  peace  of  the  forest  was 
drawing  about  the  lovers  and  holding  them  close 


420  "If  Youth  but  Knew!" 

even  as  he  had  prophesied.  As  the  light  of  the  fire 
played  upon  the  musician's  face  it  showed  a  great 
serenity.  It  was  a  blessed  evening. 

"You  will  always  live  with  us,  dear  Geiger-Hans," 
said  Sidonia  over  and  over  again.  And  each  time 
he  made  no  answer,  but  smiled  as  if  content. 

Now,  in  the  wonderful  dawn  of  the  forest,  Steven 
awoke;  and  though  his  heart  was  as  a  bird's  in 
spring  for  happiness,  yet  was  there  a  sense  of  trouble, 
of  anxiety,  upon  him  which  had  seemed  woven  into 
his  dreams. 

They  had  left  their  window  open  to  the  moon- 
light, and  it  had  flooded  in  upon  them,  but  the 
dawn  mystery  without  held  aloof,  veiled  from  sight 
like  an  Eastern  bride.  Thin  grey  vapours  hung  as  a 
curtain  before  the  open  casement.  Steven  sat  up, 
his  pulses  beating  fast.  He  strained  his  ear; 
heard  flutter  of  leaves,  drip  of  dew,  chirp  of  awaken- 
ing birds  .  .  .  then  a  faint  strain  of  music  that 
seemed  as  if  it  passed  through  a  dream.  The 
melody  grew  more  distinct,  though  still  subdued; 
it  rose,  softly  plaintive;  it  was  joyous  and  yet  sad, 
secret  and  yet  an  appeal.  And  through  it  all  there 
was  a  rhythm  as  of  restless  feet :  —  it  was  a  melody 
of  love,  of  farewell,  of  wandering.  Fainter  it  grew, 


Dawn  Music 


421 


and  was  lost  once  more  in  the  whispers  of  the  woods. 
At  last  it  was  silent,  yet  still  it  seemed  to  sing. 

A  sudden  pain  gripped  Steven's  heart.     He  knew 
that  Geiger-Hans  had  gone  out  of  their  lives  for  ever. 


The  End 


THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO 

Being  a  Memoir  of  Captain  Basil  Jeanlco 

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the  breath  of  the  reader." —  Transcript,  Boston. 

"An   artistic   production   and   original." — The   Tribune,   New 

York. 

"The  romance  of  history  and  the  history  of  a  romance  are 
blended  in  this  story."  —  The  Washington  Post. 

"  The  story  is  largely  historical,  both  German  and  English  ele- 
ments entering  into  it.  The  scene  changes  from  the  old  castle  of 
Tollendahl  to  an  English  country  house  and  London  club,  always 
maintaining  its  old-world  flavor. 

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of  distinction  both  rare  and  delightful.  The  glamour  of  April  —  of 
Chaucer's  kind  of  April  —  permeates  the  story  and  invests  it  with 
an  intangible  charm  quite  distinct  from  the  narrative  itself.  .  .  . 
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"  With  regret  one  turns  the  last  page  of  Egerton  Castle's  latest 
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THE  STORY  OF  A  CONTENTED  TOWN,  CERTAIN  PECULIAR 
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By  EMERSON  HOUGH 

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that  never  quite  was,  and  comrades  and  a  girl  of  one's  heart  of 
hearts  that  never  quite  were  —  but  it  is  very  delightful  reading  for 
all  that."—  New  York  Times. 


YOLANDA 

MAID  OF  BURGUNDY 

By  CHARLES   MAJOR 

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FAIR  MARGARET 

A  PORTRAIT 
By  F.    MARION   CRAWFORD 

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A     000118028     o 


